


The Boys Wanna Be Her

by Gabethebabe



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossdressing, F/F, F/M, GNC Achilles, I refuse to demonize Thetis lmao, I'm bad at romantic angst, M/M, Trans Character, bc yES, get ready for the worst TSOA fic ever written my dudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 03:59:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6037180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabethebabe/pseuds/Gabethebabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you do when your honorary brother in arms is doomed to suffer another year stuck in skirts? <br/>Well, if you're Achilles, you take the bullet for him. <br/>What do you do when you find yourself falling in love with the cute (most likely straight) new guy? <br/>Well, if you're Achilles, you find yourself utterly compromised (in the most agreeable way). <br/>Now: What do you do when your archnemesis- and, no, just because you're in high school that doesn't mean that you're too young to have one thank you very much- finds out the truth about you? <br/>Well, if you're Achilles, you break his nose (in the least agreeable way possible).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I lost a bed to a guy in a chiffon skirt, but I make these high heels work_
> 
> Or,  
> In which Achilles is the greatest friend a guy could ask for, Nestor's here for reasons, and poor Automedon still won't talk about the binder incident of 2014.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (does finger guns @ u) I know I said I'd wait until Friday but I'm a mess with no self control.
> 
> I also gotta give a big shout out to my bro Mary/Elliot aka asthepoetssay.tumblr.com aka soldier-dean for encouraging me to write this + allowing me to plan this would w/ them.

It was the first warm day of the year- also known as that one warm day in March that gets everyone all excited right before the temperatures drop back down to the -20’s. Achilles was out on the bleachers with his friends planning their schedules for the next school year.

Next to him he heard a small sniffle and turned to see Automedon sitting next to him. His eyes were closed and covered in makeup they both knew he hated, and his hands were bunching up the end of his uniform skirt.

“Auto…are you alright?” Achilles whispered his chosen name. Out of their whole friend group, Automedon had only come out as trans to himself, Nestor, and Helen. His roommate, Helen, had been the first to know, and- long story short- she only found out because she walked in on him getting stuck trying on a binder for the first time.

“It’s just…writing my dead name, saying I’m female, and having to look down the barrel of another stupid school year in this stupid school and wearing this stupid skirt is just…too much.” He sighed, his mousy brown bangs fluttering upwards as he did.

Achilles looked down at his registration card, unsure of what to do. He’d never handled emotions wells, especially not sadness. His mother was sad all the time because she was married to his father, Automedon was sad all the time because society was stupid, and Helen was sad all the time because Menelaus was a piece of shit who treated her badly. He felt like sadness was all around him, making all of his loved ones drown in while he watched from the sidelines, completely helpless to do anything.

As he looked down his eyes focused on their registration cards for the new school year. His green eyes widened with the brilliance of an idea that might bring about salvation from his crestfallen companion.

“Just switch the name and gender on your card last minute- your parents won’t have to know, and we’re the same size so you can borrow my uniforms.” Achilles’ whispered words overflowed with excitement, but Automedon only met him with more sadness.

“I thought about it, but some new guy’s coming here next year and it’s messed it all up.”

“How so?” Nestor turned to face them, careful to keep his own voice down as well.

“I can’t register as a guy now because of him- there are too many guys. Unless someone moves or dies-“ Nestor gave Achilles a playful shove after he gave a rather pointed look in Agamemnon’s direction. “-I can’t register.”

The three boys sat there in heavy silence. It was a shame for their honorary brother-in-arms to have to spend another year feeling dysphoric in skirts. Achilles would do anything for his friends, and he knew Automedon and Nestor would do the same for him, but now when his friend needed him most he was at a loss. _If only there was some way for me to take his place._

Automendon shut his eyes to the group. His smudged eye shadow and running eyeliner reminded Achilles of the time he was 6 and had broken into his mother’s makeup. He didn’t know any better at the time, or rather, he didn’t know the strict restraints society had already set out for him at the time.

He wished he could pass off his secret love of makeup to Auto, maybe then he wouldn’t feel so dysphoric. 

He wished he could trade placed with Auto, maybe then they would both be happier.

“I’ve got it!” Achilles exclaimed, his voice barely quiet enough to be considered a whisper. Nestor looked over his shoulder to make sure that the others weren’t listening. “You know that movie _She’s The Man_?”

“I do, and can I just say that William Shakespeare didn’t deserve-“ Nestor started, only be cut off by Achilles dramatically waving his hand in front of the other boy’s face.

“And you remember that conversation we had with Helen about how I don’t give two shits about gender, because I’d be confortable as whatever?”

“Yeah…” Automedon quirked his eyebrow and looked back and forth between Nestor and Achilles. He seemed to be doubting himself and where he’d assumed this conversation to be going, but after being friends with Achilles for a year, he found it hard to doubt even the most impossible plan. “…wait. You aren’t thinking-“

“-I think he is thinking-“ Nestor added. Achilles was a little moved by the fact that he and his friends were all on the same wave length.

“I register as a girl under a fake name, have Helen as a roommate, you register as a boy under your chosen name, and get Nestor as a roommate.” Achilles finished, counting out the points of his plan on his slender fingers.

“I can’t ask you to do that for me, Achilles.”

“You didn’t ask, Auto.” Achilles put his arm around his friend’s back.

“But you’ll have to suffer in skirts for a whole school year.” 

“You say _suffer in skirts,_ I say free ballin’ for two semesters.” Achilles gave a cheesy grin, which turned into a loud laugh at the shocked look on Nestor’s face. “Both of you need to lighten up and trust me.”

Automedon and Nester shared another look before looking back at Achilles and shrugging. Once the others around them went back to their own conversations that have previously disrupted by Achilles’ laugh, Nestor sighed. “There’s no way we can really stop him.”

“Okay. I’ll fill in Helen tonight.” Despite all of his obvious doubt Automedon smiled, really smiled, for the first time in almost a year.

“We’re putting out asses on the line for this…but if we’re gonna go out, it’s gonna be in a blaze of equality and glory.” Nestor made a fist and the other two followed suit, touching their knuckles together before pulling them apart with a mimicked explosion sound.

Achilles put a hand on each of their backs. “Trust me guys. Nothing will mess this up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> famous last words, eh?


	2. Ugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I know your lungs need filling, ever since your gums have lost their feeling_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Or,  
> In which Ajax the lesser continues to be a rat faced bastard, I refuse to demonize Thetis, Patroclus is a cool guy just trynna get by, Achilles has an ass that just won’t quit, Helen is the ultimate mom friend, and Paris can’t keep it in his pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look.,,,,,look okay I’m fukking Hector trash alright…;;;; Just look okay I’m not sorry,,,, 
> 
> This was written in, what I tried to make, very typical teen style. To prepare for writing this I had some friends over and had a mini-movie marathon featuring She’s the man (obvi), Clueless, Mean Girls, and GBF (again, obvi) so ??? I hope it’s good?? I mean, I’m stuck in the hell that is highschool for another few months. I might as well make my suffering worth something. I also tried to make the narration align with things each character would notice/think?? Lowkey stream-of-consciousness??? Am I even using that correctly?? Probably not bc lbr I’m going to fail the AP 12 English test (RIP)

Patroclus had never been the center of attention.

Not at home- his father barely looked at him and his mother had been in and out of “medical spas” since he was six.

Not at school- he’d been quiet enough to blend into the general crowd of gossip spreading, soul sucking spoiled brats at his old school, save the occasional bully.

And certainly not in love- the one girlfriend he’d managed to have cheated on him with at least two different guys.

So he was completely fine with blending into the background of life. He was a wallflower or whatever other bullshit term wanna-be indie kids dubbed him. His whole life revolved around getting by unnoticed, and that had been going perfectly well for him thank you very much.

 But as the fates would have it, all of that changed the second he walked into Olympus Boarding School.

This place might have seemed like your average boarding school filled with insatiable rich brats throwing their daddies’ names around like the football team threw around wrinkly balls, but in reality this place was so much worse.

 _“How?”_ You might ask. Well, for starters, Patroclus was the only- and I mean the _only-_ student with absolutely any flaw or pigmentation to his skin on the roster. This got him a lot of attention, granted the majority of it was blank stares and racist remarks.

 _This place might as well be a commercial for fair and lovely._ He thought to himself as he walked through the male dormitory’s halls. The marble floors and purple hallways were filled with boys saying goodbyes to family members, trying to move in last minute, and visiting friends they hadn’t seen since last year. 

He continued to walk against the flow of crying mothers and sighing fathers, trying to not feel so sorry for his own lack of friends or family to send him off.

 _It’s better this way._ He chastised himself for being so sensitive. His last school had been a complete nightmare, but this place was a new start. He was closer to his mother’s current facility. _At least she cares about me._ If he was really lucky, and I mean _really_ lucky, no one here will have heard about his past. _Maybe then I can just make a friend and play soccer in peace._

He risked a glance down at the paper in his over-filled hands to check his room number. In doing so he missed a particularly large door flying open and smacking him in the face. Embarrassment and anger seethed within him as he went spilling to the floor with his belongings.

“Christ tap-dancing on a Ritz cracker, dude, I’m so sorry!” Patroclus placed a hand on the throbbing side of his face and looked up to see the guy speaking.

“I- it’s okay, my fault actually. I should have looked where I was going.” The words came out of his mouth slowly and to their own accord. The guy bent down and started to put some of his scattered things back into a cardboard box. Patroclus normally didn’t say anything- let alone apologize for something that wasn’t his fault- but the 6’4 possible demi god bending down that was currently picking up his favorite pair of boxer briefs before his left him a little lost for words. _I don’t need to make an enemy on my first day anyway._

Patroclus hoped that the bright red embarrassment of the sight of a, to be perfectly honest, cute boy who could kill him with his pinky fingers holding his underwear hadn’t reached his freckled cheeks.

 “Nah, man, really. I was so focused on bitching out my brother that I didn’t even see you.” He handed Patroclus’ box back to him, looking up through the long blonde hair that had fallen in his face.  “I’m Hector, by the way.”

“Patroclus.” He said a little too eagerly for his own liking. He wanted to try and make more small talk, mainly to reassure himself that he hadn’t made a complete ass of himself on his first day, but as it would turn out, he can hold a bar of wet soap better than he can a conversation. Luckily for him, Hector didn’t seem to notice his awkward nature and burning face.

“Oh, I know who you are. Everyone has been going on about the _oh so attractive and mysterious new guy.”_ Hector smiled and did an endearing falsetto as he mimicked the rumors. Patroclus was still a little frazzled from his nerves, so it took him a moment to process what he said.  

“Attractive?” The heat in his face grew even more, but he tried to laugh it off. “Since when was being blind and lanky attractive to anyone?”

“I don’t know about blind and lanky, I’ll be honest. What I do know is 6’0, fit, cute in glasses, and the only non-white student within a 15 mile radius sounds pretty cute to me.” Hector offered another cheeky grin. Patroclus found himself smiling back as he picked up his lucky soccer ball. “Oh, and from what everyone is saying, you were the varsity soccer captain at your old school.”

Patroclus scoffed at the sheer ridiculousness of the rumor. It wasn’t that he was a bad player, he was a good one and an even better strategist, but the team’s coach had had it out for him. It revolved around an incident with the coach’s son and, surprise surprise, Patroclus letting his gayness get out of hand. Which, technically he was _bi_ not _gay_ , but that didn’t seem to matter to anyone at the time. _Probably not the best thing to think about right now._

 _“_ Uh, no. I was barely first string for a few weeks last year.”

Hector shrugged. “You should try out for the team anyway. I was captain last year and my brother, Paris, will probably just be handed the title this year _because_ he’s my brother. A decent captain would do us good- uh- don’t tell him I said that.” He added a wink at the end.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Patroclus shifted his weight from one leg to another as the added weight of the boxes added extra strain to his joints.  

“Oh god, my manners. Let me help you with that.” Hector grabbed a few of the boxes from Patroclus’ hand. “I swear I’m not normally this rude- being around my brother just has that effect on me. What was your room number again?”

“26B.” Patroclus risked a second glance down at the paper. When nothing hit him or sent him falling back down to the ground this time, he decided to take it as a good sign.

“Shit.” Hector gave a soundless laugh and opened the door that had smacked Patroclus in the face. “What I just said about my manners? Let’s hope my brother doesn’t have the same effect on you.”

“Excuse me?” Patroclus peeked inside the room. From the outside all he could see was an empty bed and beige walls.

“He’s your roommate.” Hector gestured for Patroclus to enter first. Upon entering Patroclus saw the other half of the room- a wall already covered in posters, a desk cluttered in poetry and art supplies, and a made bed with two teens making out on it. Patroclus averted his eyes and speed walked to his side of the room. _Great, I got fucking Romeo as a roomie._

His boxes landed on his bed with a loud squeak, loud enough to cause the two lovebirds to break apart.

“Just sat those anywhere.” Patroclus told Hector with a small smile. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t constantly replaying the other guy calling him handsome in his head. No one had ever come anywhere close to calling him handsome- not even his ex-girlfriend. He decided to take that as a good sign too. “Thanks.”

“Least I can do for smashing you in the face on your first day.” Hector dropped the boxes on the table and walked to sit on Patroclus’ bare bed. “I didn’t crack your glasses, did I?”

Patroclus opened his mouth to answer no, but he before he could speak his roommate complained. “I thought you had to meet Andromache somewhere.”

“That was a lie, Paris. You know those things you tell your brother when you get sick of watching him make out with another guy’s girlfriend?”

 _Literally Romeo and Juliet._ Patroclus silently prayed that whatever drama his new roommate had gotten himself into wouldn’t reach him. Behind him Helen and Paris scoffed at the same time.

“Helen is someone’s soon-to-be ex-girlfriend and my soon-to-be current girlfriend.” Paris corrected. Patroclus didn’t have to turn around to sense the tension in the air, so he busied himself with taking out his clothes and refolding them. “And, like, considering you’re flirting with some minor when you have a girlfriend, I don’t think that you’re, like, exactly qualified to lecture me here.”

Halfway to Patroclus’ dresser he dropped the clothes in his hand in shock. Embarrassed, he picked them up as quickly as Hector replied. “It’s called being nice, Paris. Maybe if you were nice to everyone rather than just the people you wanted to sleep with, you’d be able to pick up on that.”

Patroclus neatly put the clothes in the drawer, trying to focus on anything but the arguing. He heard the girl, Helen, sigh and make her way over to Patroclus.

“They do this all the time.” She smiled at him with smeared bright pink lips. “Want a hand?”

“Oh, you don’t have to-“ Patroclus realized there was no point in saying “no” as the girl was already across the room. He turned to watch her walk and noticed that Hector had crossed over to Paris’ side of the room and now had the younger brother pinned under him. _Fighting. Yet another reason I’m glad my little sister doesn’t even talk to me._

“Is there anything in this box that you don’t want me to see?” Helen asked as she pointed to one of the boxes Hector had spilled everywhere.

“I think it’s just bedding…you really don’t have to-“

“No, I don’t, but I want to. I’m the mom friend.” Patroclus watched the languid way she moved her hands as she took out his pillow cases and put them on the school-provided pillows.

“Uncle! Uncle you bastard!” Paris yelped behind them. Patroclus looked over, seriously considering helping. He’d never really gotten along with his little sister, but that didn’t mean that they ever fought in such a way. It worried him a little, so he took a step in the brothers’ direction.  

“Again, they do this all the time.” Helen pulled out his fitted sheet and started putting it on his mattress. “I take it you like black?”’

“Yeah. Minimalism is kind of my thing.” Patroclus turned away as Helen put his plain black sheets on the bed. He focused on emptying his school supplies and organizing them in and on his desk. _Black pens, black outfit, black sheets…way to seem interesting, Pat._

Helen smoothed out his beige comforter before placing his throw pillows for him. At least they had some color- a plant and wave patterned set helped make his bed less dull. “Paris is the complete opposite. He loves bold colors and patterns.”

“I noticed.” Patroclus laughed and stuck out a thumb in the director of Paris’ cluttered desk. “At least he’s got good taste in poetry.”

“Don’t tell him that, he might start performing his sonnets to you.” Hector grunted, standing up and brushing himself off. Despite their squabbling he held out a hand to help Paris stand up. “Sorry about that.”

“Yeah….” Patroclus smiled, mostly to himself, and went back to organizing his desk. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Paris made a point of not accepting Hector’s help to stand and began to mope on his half of the room. Patroclus finished up organizing his things as he secretly worried about his dramatic roommate making his year harder than it should be.  

“Paris, aren’t you even going to say hi to your new roommate?” Helen chided, a strange sound to hear compared to her normally soft voice. Patroclus noted how motherly she sounded and decided that she really did live up to her self-proclaimed title.

Paris’ face instantly light up at the prospect of a new person to adore him. “That’s right! I got stuck with the sexy and mysterious new boy! Hey, is it true your dad, like, runs the Turkish mafia?”

“Uh…try more Chief Financial Officer of Opal Incorporated.” Patroclus resisted the erg to scoff again. He felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on him, so he turned back to his desk to fiddle with something.

“Oh, well I’d keep the mafia story. It makes you sound cooler tbh.” Paris’ pleasant voice almost made his youthful diction and frequent use of abbreviation sound eloquent. Patroclus figured it was all of his aforementioned practice as a would-be poet. “You’re not the OCD type, are you?”

“Not really.” Patroclus realized that he did look borderline obsessive by continuing to fidget with the same cluster of multi-colored pens. “I guess I’m just nervous, new school and all.”

 _Why on god’s green earth did I say that?_ He turned back to face the group. He expected the same cold and judgmental looks he’d gotten back at his old school; instead he was greeted with warm and caring looks.

“Don’t be! Everyone already thinks you’re the hottest stud that Pandora High had to offer, and I think I speak for all of us when I say that you’re living up to most of that so far.” Helen gave a wicked grin and leaned forward. She still sat on his bed, which was making him nervous for some reason. _Someone’s girlfriend and someone else’s soon-to-be girlfriend. Translation: too much trouble for you Patroclus._

_Not that you even had a chance._

_Stupid thoughts._

“The biggest thing you have to be worried about is convincing coach Chiron that you are worth all the hype at soccer try-outs.” Hector walked over and clapped Patroclus on the back. “But with these back muscles I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

Patroclus smiled and secretly prayed for Satan to take mercy on him and drag him to hell in that moment, but like usual he was stuck trying not to stutter through a mediocre response.

Oh, the thrills of social anxiety.

*

Achilles loved being the center of attention. He was the greatest good that had ever happened to the school’s track team, so it only made sense that he should praised at every given moment.

But, as Pyrrha, he was really started to hate all of that.

On instinct, when he’d first arrived to school he’d headed right for the boy’s dormitory. He realized his mistake, but not before a few underclassmen caught sight of what they thought was “fresh meat” and felt they should cat call. _Next time one of my friends does that to a girl, I’m definitely punching him in the face…or I’ll hold his arms behind his back so that the poor girl can do so instead._

Look, he knew he was a wonderful frame, great legs, and an ass that just won’t quit, but no girl deserved any skeez like that talking to her in such a demeaning way. Achilles would have loved to have taught them a lesson, but before he could get within swinging range Thetis was behind him.

Even from behind her large signature Chanel sunglasses her cold gaze chilled the boys to the bone. “If I catch wind of you talking to my daughter- or any female for that matter- in such a way ever again…” she paused for dramatic effect, and tilted her head to the side. With her black hair and vicious words she looked like an enraged panther protected her cub. “I will end your pathetic lives and whatever fruitless careers that you might have had.”

Needless to say that the boys took off running before Achilles and Thetis had even managed to change course to the female dorms.

“I can’t believe I made a stupid slip up like that.” He huffed quietly, carrying the brand new pink luggage set in his arms.

“We all make mistakes, Pyrrha. It’s alright, Princess.” Thetis smiled at her son. Achilles loved seeing her smile, even if she only started to do it after her and Peleus’ divorce.  

“Thank you again for going along with this. Automedon and I owe you so much.”

“No you don’t, princess. You’re my only kid and you’re doing this to help out one of your friends…I couldn’t be more proud of you.” The two dropped the conversation as they entered the female’s doors in case anyone overheard.

Achilles knew that Thetis secretly reveled in the chance to do all the things she couldn’t have done with Achilles when he was growing up: teaching him to do his makeup, taking his dress shopping, and buying him and endless barrage of useless girly things. Thetis also knew that Achilles had a not-so-small-nor-secret affinity for things that feel under the “feminine” category, and was happy to indulge him in a way that wouldn’t bring about too much media attention. Even if it meant she’d have to tough out the wilds that were the dormitory buildings on the first day of school.

The girls’ dorm was about as crowded as the boys’. It had the same barrage of crying mothers, sighing fathers, and reunited friends and lovers, and the only difference was that the walls were a shade of mint green instead the purple he’d grown so used to. Well, that and this year Achilles’ friends all thought that he was studying overseas in America- all save Automedon, Nestor, and his roommate Helen. He tried not to think about how much he’d miss hanging out with Odysseus, Diomedes, and Menelaus as he neared his and Helen’s dorm room.

Achilles didn’t ask how Helen had managed to make sure the two of them were roommates for the school year, and he didn’t want to ask. She was a sneaky girl, and the less Achilles was involved in her drama the better. Which seemed to be the universe’s plan as Thetis and Achilles entered the room to find Helen gone and a note in her place.

“ _Pyrrha-_ which is spelt _P-h-y-y-r-a_ by the way,” Achilles scoffed before continuing to read aloud.

_I went to see Mr. Bourbon, my French teacher, to ask about required reading. I’ll be back soon._

_Love-_ the O is a heart by the way, - _Helen.”_ He finished reading the letter in the effeminate voice he’d been practicing over the summer. Both Thetis and Achilles knew that “ _Mr. Bourbon the French teacher”_ was code for making out with Paris. Thetis laughed a little at what she would later refer to as the “ridiculous nature of teenagers in love” while her son sat his stuff down.

“You laugh so much and so easily now.” He noted, still using the effeminate voice. It started to sink in that he would speak in that voice for the rest of the year- it started to sink in that this was all really happening. _Fuck._

Thetis sat down on his dorm bed and patted the space to her right. Achilles sat next to her and rested his head on her shoulder. “I do, it’s because I’m happier now. Are you sad because your father and I divorced?”

“No. You weren’t happy so I wasn’t happy.” Achilles gave a sad sigh. He knew that Thetis had felt trapped in her marriage to Peleus, and he also knew that it was driving her crazy to be forced to be with a man that so thoroughly disgusted her simply because it’s what society told her to do. It was actually part of the reason why Achilles sympathized with Helen’s affair with Paris. _Not that I would ever admit that publically._

“Okay, then enough sad stuff- this is the first day of your senior year, and you’re the cute new girl.” She kissed Achilles’ forehead.

“Ugh, if all that’s gonna get me is sleeze balls like Ajax’s little brother back there trying to flirt with me, I’d honestly rather not be.” He rolled his eyes. He suddenly had a new found appreciation for Kat from _10 things I hate about you._  

Thetis patted his back and started to unzip one of his pieces of luggage. She ran her hands over the top layer folded dresses and uniform skirts inside. “You’re going to look so cute in all these dresses; you might even get yourself a boyfriend.”

“As if, mom! I’ve known these guys since elementary school, and trust me when I say they’re so up their own asses with their own special brand of homophobic toxic masculinity that they would rather gauge out their own eyes before dating a boy in a skirt.”   

“There’s bound to be a cute bi boy on this campus somewhere.” Thetis fought to contain her laughter as she teased her son. She was really the only one that could get any sort of playful rise out of him and she often used that her advantage in tense moments.

Achilles made a fake retching sound as the concept of dating any of the gross boys in this school. If they were stupid enough to not notice that the cute girl standing before them was really the guy they’d grown up with, then they were way too stupid for him. Besides, he’d heard the way they talked about girls…it was…utterly _disgusting_.  “Again mom: as if.”

“Maybe you’re right.” She said thoughtfully in between putting skirts on hangers. “I don’t think any of the boys at this school are good enough for you.”

Achilles scoffed again. “Trust me, I know. I’ve grown up with _all_ of them, and they’re _all_ disgusting.” He didn’t mention the supposedly god-like knew guy that was Achilles’ reason for being in skirts, but to be fair he would probably be exactly like the others. Furthermore he had a particularly painful knick on his leg from shaving that was inspiring a slight resentment for the boy in question. He knew it was petty but, whatever, it’s not like it’d really affect his life all that much anyway.     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Letting his gayness get out of hand”, while a cringe-worthy statement to put in a fanfic, is an inside joke between a friend and I. I felt it appropriate to put in here bc ??? Let’s be honest finding decent diction can be a bitch sometimes.


	3. Pity Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I couldn’t really find a song with decent song lyrics to match the chapter bc I didn’t even plan this out (it just happened) but it doesn't matter bc I kinda hate this chapter anyway, Automedon groans a lot, Nestor just wants to finish his homework, Helen never finished painting her nails, Achilles is a blushing hormonal mess, Paris is just trying to friend, and Patroclus doesn’t deserve the backstory given to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making these notes at the top is kind of like screaming into the void: I don’t know if anyone’s listening, but it helps.   
> Anyway, time to #suffer

The official first day of school had been nothing more than a glorified gaggle of gossip, introductions, being stared at, and way too many syllabi for Patroclus and Achilles to keep track of.

Patroclus had been swept up in a group of boys overly interested in soccer, girls, and asking one too many questions about his love life. It sort of wigged him out. He’d never had people automatically like him before- he’d never not had to worry about every millisecond of movement and speech. In all honestly, he completely hated it. These people didn’t like him for _who_ he was, they liked him because he was deemed _interesting_ by them. The weird circular reasoning of high school was, well, weird, and only worked to frustrate him.  

Achilles, on the other hand, had been taken under Helen’s wing. She introduced him as “a new girl from Crete” and helped keep his identity hidden. Acting like someone other than himself in addition to now being expected to adhere to an entirely new set of social rules forced him to be constantly on his guard. Being on his guard was something else new for him. Achilles was handsome, rich, and a great athlete; He’d never had to worry about making people like him before- never had to worry about what people might think of him.

But being on guard and being overly liked weren’t the hardest parts of the boys’ day.

The hardest part for Achilles was acting like he was he didn’t know the people he had grown so close to over the past few years. And, in contrast, the hardest for Patroclus was being expected to act like people he’d never met before in his life were suddenly his new best friend.

Both wondered if they could make it to lunch without having a mental breakdown.

*

At lunch, they sat near each other but couldn’t see one another over the hoard of screaming and laughing teens. Neither really knew the other existed, save what each had heard about the other in idle chatter. _“The cute new guy is trying out f or soccer, do you think he’ll make it?”_ and _“Dude! I heard the new girl does car commercials in Japan! You think she’ll go out with me?”_

Neither knew that they were not the only one, feeling alone at a crowded table.

Neither had met yet.

_Yet._

Neither knew how wrong everyone was about the other yet.

_Yet._

_*_

Patroclus entered his last class of the day, internally groaning. He longed for the days when he could pass through a hallway unnoticed and unbothered. He actually missed being the weird quiet kid that no one cared about. He _missed_ that, he _actually missed_ that! Why the fuck did he spend the better part of his middle school years praying for popularity again?

Achilles entered his last class of the day internally screaming and ready to pull of his heels. _Why did Helen suggest heels? Who the fuck suggests heels on the first day of school?_ Of course he’d never admit this to Helen or Automedon, but he was seriously starting to regret this plan. 

Both sat down at an abandoned table towards the back of the small class room, neither bothered to notice the other. Not noticing, that is, until a senior with bright pink hair noticed _them_.

“Oh my god! That is so cute- isn’t it perfect, Cassie?” The two looked up from their phones. Achilles’ eyes scanned over the girl’s strangely pale skin. Patroclus’ eyes watched the way her pink hair moved as she spoke. 

Another girl, who Patroclus assumed was the aforementioned Cassie, came up behind her. Her fire red hair caught Patroclus’ eye just as much as the first girl’s pink had. Patroclus thought he had seen a picture of her in Paris’ room, but couldn’t remember.

“Perfect?” He asked, looking over the two girls. All the interesting hair got him thinking about his own glorified rat’s nest, so he self-consciously raked a hand through his brown curls.

“The two new kids sitting together!” Pink hair explained as he tried not to make eye contact. A mild panic set in as he felt the eyes on everyone in the room on him.

“Oh.” He suddenly became aware of a pair of vivid green eyes staring at him from across the table. Despite the rest of the room watching them, he felt her gaze above all else. He wanted to say something witty or friendly, something common even, but found himself at a complete loss for words. This had to be the more beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life.

The green-eyed other in question was equally at a loss. _This was the new guy I’d spent the better part of a summer hating?_ His eyes scanned over every individual freckle in wonder.

“What’s your name?” Achilles asked when he noticed the pause in conversation. He subconsciously mirrored Patroclus, a hand going back to brush back a stray piece of golden hair.

“Patroclus.” He smiled a little as he spoke. He was blushing and that made it all the more endearing.

“I’m-“ The name _Achilles_ formed in his brain before he could help it, but not before he could stop himself from saying it. “I’m Pyrrha.”

 _Red. Like her bright cherry lips._ He couldn’t help himself from staring at them, noticing the way they popped against the dark navy uniforms.

“Those two are totally blushing!” A third girl’s all-too-familiar voice said in a not-so-quiet whisper. Achilles looked over, in horror, to see Penelope.

Normally, he loved Penelope. She was nice and caring, _but she was Odysseus’ girlfriend._ Where she went, her boyfriend and Diomedes followed suit. His fears were realized when he saw the other two sitting at the center table with her.

He turned away from them, face burning in mild panic. Odysseus was cleaver, too cleaver, and would surely find out the truth. Achilles didn’t fear for himself, he didn’t care if they found out about him, but the fact that Odysseus could unknowingly out  Automedon to the whole school freaked him out. His mind was racing with a thousand possibilities when Patroclus leaned in.

“I know this is your first day too, but…” His voice was low, soft-looking lips moving carefully as he spoke. “Is everyone in this school obsessed with each other’s romantic escapades?”

“You have no idea.” He leaned so that his forehead rested on the back of his hand, doing so as to not mess up any of his makeup in his time of distress. So what if he might be outed to the whole school- he had to get up at 3 a.m. to bake his foundation on right, and he wasn’t about to mess it up in front of a cute boy.   

“Ah.” The cute boy in question leaned back, large eyes going to the front of the classroom where the teacher now stood behind a makeshift podium.  Achilles watched as his eyes scanned over the various posters of Thor, Ra, Cupid, and all other deities from long dead religions. 

They didn’t talk after that. Neither had the nerve to try and strike up a conversation with the cute stranger, but their short interaction had drawn so much notoriety that Helen and Paris felt the need to move over. Helen to help keep Achilles on track, and Paris to help be a wingman for his roommate.

Patroclus couldn’t believe the coincidence of their roommates (secretly) dating, and Paris said something along the lines of this being fate. Helen glared silent daggers as her boyfriend continued to talk- bringing up what good traits he knew Patroclus had. “He’s a great artist, great sense of humor, great roommate, great taste in poetry, and…he…exfoliates? I actually don’t know- do you exfoliate? You’ve got to, right? I mean, like, look at that smooth skin.”

Achilles blushed the entire time, occasionally sneaking not-so-subtle glances at the new boy in question. Their gazes met a few times. Each time it did they would look away, blushing, and pretend to be listening to whatever Ms. Clio was saying. Patroclus’ ears would turn pink and he’d busy himself with doodling little hearts on his syllabi. Somewhere between glances and a detailed list of required reading, he noticed a bolded title.

**_Semester Long Project: mandatory partner work. Partners will be assigned. Worth 45% of your final grade._ **

Patroclus prayed to whatever god was listening that he would get paired with Paris. He also prayed that he might get paired with Pyrrha, but he refused to admit that so boldly, even to himself. After all, he didn’t even know her yet.

 _Yet._   

*

 Achilles didn’t know what was coming over him. He’d never felt this way towards anyone it was like…it was like… 

“I cannot believe you wait until you’re dressed as a girl to get a crush on someone! Much less a guy! Much less the very guy who’s presence at this school caused you to be in this situation!” Automedon hissed when they were all back in Helen and Achilles’ dorm. There wasn’t any venom in his words, only fear of being forced back into skirts. Achilles was more than sympathetic.

“A crush? You can’t be serious.” He scoffed, plopping down on his pink comforter. “I do not have a crush on that guy.”

“Yes, you do.” Helen corrected, looking up from the dark blue she was using to pain her toenails. “Why do you think I went over there to sit with you?”

Achilles glared at her in disbelief, but didn’t waste his breath on a rebuttal.

“You were a blushing disaster, and he wasn’t much better.” She rolled her eyes at his obvious embarrassment. She had to admit, as did Nestor and Automedon, it was nice to see the school’s golden boy all flustered for once.

Even so, Automedon groaned from where he sat sprawled out on the mint green carpet. “You could have at least told me you were gay when I came out as trans.”

“I’m not gay, and I’m not interested in that guy!” Achilles scoffed, left hand running over the place just above his heel that he’d cut while shaving. “He’s the reason we’re in this situation, like you said Auto, and I’m not gay.”

“You 100% are, dude.” Nestor jeered, but didn’t look up from his trig textbook. Achilles had the sudden erg to take it from his hands and hit him across the face with it. Not that he would ever act on it, of course. He had learned how to deal with his anger after a particularly nasty falling out with Agamemnon during a track meet last year. _Never Again._ He told himself.

“No- I could be bi. Or pan. It’s 2016, there are a lot of things I could identify as.” His reply was indignant and said with face that showed right red even through his caked on makeup.

Helen rolled her eyes as she blew air onto her wet toenails. Achilles wondered if it actually helped dry them faster, or if it just gave the illusion of progress. She stopped blowing to give a rather annoyed “50%, 20%, whatever percent gay you align yourself with, you’re 100% gay for that Patroclus kid.”

Achilles let himself groan loudly. Deep down he knew they were right. He had never shown interest in anyone before despite his ability to get whoever he pleased, and the one person he did like was the very reason for this whole scheme. _Great timing, Ace._

In defeat he threw his arms in the air. “Look, fine, whatever! So what if I like him? Nothing’s going to come of it.”

As if on cue Helen’s phone buzzed with a new message. She read it quickly and mimicked Achilles’ previous groan. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“Why? What’s going on?” Automedon’s questions were quick and harsh. His eyes were wide with worry that his face was working hard at hiding.

“I probably should have mentioned this before, but Patroclus is Paris’ roommate. Apparently he hasn’t shut up about you since class got out.” She threw her phone down on the bed, careful to not let anything touch her wet toes.

“But that was 3 hours ago.” Achilles tried his best to sound annoyed, but knew he wasn’t convincing anyone. His mind bubbled with thousands upon thousands of questions.

“To be fair, we haven’t shut up about him.” Nestor offered with eyes still glued to his trig homework. _What the fuck kind of teacher assigns work on the first day?_ He’d grunted during lunch. Helen had warned him about taking anything above algebra II, but he didn’t listen. Achilles figured that he was paying the price, or, whatever.

“So what if he likes me? So what if I like him back?” Achilles’ irritation at the entire situation was growing to an unbearable level. If he had told them once while planning this whole scheme, he’d told them a thousand times: he was in complete control of himself and the situation. And, in all honesty, it hurt that his friends didn’t trust him. “If he asks me out then I’ll just say no!”

Auto rolled so he was lying face down in the carpet, letting a loud groan emit from him. “But you can’t sacrifice your happiness for me- you’re already sacrificing your senior year as is, ace.” 

Achilles opened his mouth to say something else, but Nestor interrupted him. “Let’s all just calm down, okay? We don’t even know what this guy is saying about you, and plus you two barely know each other. As far as we know it’s just a little bit of infatuation!”

“Isn’t infatuation worse than a crush?” Helen asked. She pulled out her phone again to send a text to Paris. Achilles silently prayed that she was asking about the details of what all Patroclus had been saying, and that she would tell them. He watched her lightning fast fingers move over the phone’s screen with practiced ease, trying to ignore the hope that swelled within him.

Nestor gave up on completing his homework and shut his book. “Nah- you’re thinking of obsession. Infatuation is another word for lust.”

“Gross.” Automedon’s groaned just as Achilles threw his pillow across the room at Nestor.

“Yeah, gross. I don’t know this guy, like, at all. He’s not even that cute.” He scoffed for show and even added in an eye roll for good measure.

Helen looked up from her phone with a burning smile and quirked eye brow. “If he’s- as you say- not that cute, then why are you blushing?”

“Shut up, Helen! Whose side are you on anyway?” Achilles was about to throw his other pillow at her when her phone buzzed again.

“Paris?” Automedon asked. Guilt from the situation was beginning to weigh down on him and he was desperate to change the subject. Unfortunately fate wouldn’t let this shy liking escape from conversation just yet. _Yet._   

“Yeah. I asked him exactly what Pat has been saying about you…wanna know?” The look on her face told Achilles that she was going to tell him regardless if he said no. _Seriously, whose side is she on anyway?_

“Absolutely not. He’s thoroughly disgusting and I hate him.” Achilles turned away from the group, eyes practically glaring a hole through his Lana Del Rey poster. Of course he wanted to know.

“According to Paris he said that when you two introduced yourself, and even more so when you two began to speak, he felt as though your souls had known each other for an eternity.”  Helen gave a dreamy sigh and Nestor scoffed.

“You’re definitely way too good to date some cheesy would be poet like that, Ace.” He offered some sort of consolation. He knew that Achilles was probably far too much of a blushing, hormonal mess to save face.

“Yeah…” Achilles said slowly, almost as if he was convincing himself that Nestor was right. Automedon groaned again and tried to ignore the smile he heard in his voice when he spoke.

Stupid new kid.

*

“Dude! You’re totally in!” Paris exclaimed and stood up on his bed. Patroclus watched with cautious interest as the other boy bounced idly on his offensively bright comforter.

“She likes me too?” Patroclus tried not to sound too interest or too hopeful. In his years in the private school system he’d learned that caring too much only got you hurt.

“According to Helen, Pyrrha turns into a blushing mess at the slightest mention on you.” Paris jumped off of his bed. “And you’re just as bad.”

“I-“ He started to say something in his defense, but realized that it was no use. Paris had been very diligent to point out every time his face had even the slightest change in hue at the mention of the other new kid. “-Yeah, okay.”

Patroclus smiled at Paris. He wanted to be happy- wanted so badly to believe that a cute girl liked him back and his new friend was helping him. Yet, despite himself and all his hope, doubt began to creep into his mind.

“Paris,” He cleared his throat. His face was burning just as badly now as it had been during class, but for a different reason. “When I was in 10th grade I got asked out by this person. I really liked this person, like, I _really_ liked this person.”

“Oh no…” Paris sat down on Pat’s bed. Patroclus tried not to flinch as he felt a hand pat his knee. He wasn’t used to be being touched, and didn’t exactly like the idea of having to get used it. “You have a girlfriend.”

Patroclus shook his head, looking down at his hands. He wasn’t some pathetic emotional mess- he could tell this story. He had to, to protect himself. “Everyone knew I liked this person, apparently it was obvious. And, one day this person asked me out…I was so happy. I thought- I don’t know what I thought. It was stupid of me to think that a guy like that could have ever actually liked someone like me.”

His usage of “he” didn’t go unnoticed by Paris, but he was hardly the type to care. Especially with his brother being, well, no one really knew what his brother was. Not that it mattered right then.

With a soft voice and an even softer hand on Patroclus’ leg “He asked you out as a joke?”

“Oh yeah.” Patroclus nodded. He took his glasses off and rubbed his face. “He was the coach’s son, too. The team all thought it was real funny.” He gave a hollow laugh that was just as fake as it was forced. “But a year later, I got a genuine girlfriend…until she cheated on me with some of my teammates.”

Paris made a sympathetic coo-like noise and moved forward to hug him. Patroclus reflexively pulled away with a muttered apology. “I just- I don’t want this to be anything like that. I don’t want to be lied to again.”

“I promise you, this is nothing like that. I don’t know Pyrrha that well, but I do know Helen and I know that she would never be friends with someone like that.” Paris’ restless hands found their way to Patroclus shoulder. He was normally able to comfort others by just holding them, but his roommate seemed to have a different need when it came to comfort. Paris tried to do his bed with words, and tried to remember all the long-winded things Hector had spewed at him over the years.

Patroclus wanted to believe him. He really, really, wanted to believe him, so he said that he did. He gave a shaky smile and said “Alright.”

Patroclus wanted to believe him, he really did, but he found it impossible. Helen- Paris’ soon-to-be-girlfriend and someone else’s soon-to-be-ex- hardly seemed like the best judge of character to him.

The doubt he still held must have reached his eyes, because before he knew it Paris was hugging him. “I promise no one is lying to you, Pat.”

Patroclus clapped him on the back and acted like that was as easy to hear as it was to say. Of course, the only reason it was easy to say was because Paris didn’t know the truth yet.

_Yet._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao when will the self-projecting end?? When I finally become a decent author probably ~~so never~~


	4. What Comes Next?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awesome. Wow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to anyone that reads this: I’ve haven’t updated in awhile because I’ve been feeling a little insecure about my writing here lately. Like it’s fine and all, I guess, probably just stress of school?? Plus I had kinda thought about not finishing this story, but your people’s nice comments keep me going tbh?? So thank you???  
> Also- I lost my beta (to parenthood. ew.) so that was kind of a huge factor in not publishing. I mean, I’ve been editing everything on my own since HTTTCOTI and as you can tell it’s been...rough...to say the least. ~~and editing makes me want to die~~  
>  So, this chapter was really just an excuse for me to make a few Hamilton references and also complain about how much I hate my writing (as I continue to publish my writing on a public forum)??? I'm a mess I'm sorry lmao.

2:17 a.m. Friday night.

Two fucking seventeen a.m. in the goddamn morning on a shitty Friday night.

Do you know what most students were doing at 2:17 a.m. on Friday nights? Sleeping.

Do you want to know what Patroclus’ roommate, Paris, was doing at 2:17 a.m. on this particular Friday night? Sliding into fourth base while poor Patroclus tried to fall asleep with his back to the lewd scene.

Sometime around 2:18 a.m. they got quiet, and Patroclus thought his prayers had been answered and that they were asleep. Then 2:19 a.m. rolled around with the sound of a rather undignified whimper from Paris, and Patroclus snapped.

Without a word- or much thought- he stood from his bed with his pillow in hand and stormed out of the room. He let the door slam behind him. So what if he ruined the mood of their little make out fest- and so what if said make out fest was in celebration of Helen breaking up with Menelaus tomorrow morning? Patroclus didn’t care. If they didn’t care about how uncomfortable he would be made to feel having to suffer in the next bed over, then he didn’t care about their libidos.

“Fucking rich kids.” He hissed as if he wasn’t one. As if he hadn’t grown up with the same vast array of financial privileges available to him. Even so, he liked to think that he wasn’t like them. He liked to think that he was more aware of other- thoughtful- and far more appreciative for all that he

had. He liked to think that he didn’t act as if the world belonged to him simply for existing.

He continued to fume silently as the lonely sound of his bare feet against the marble hallway echoed into the otherwise soundless night. He felt cold and lonely.

Pat looked over his shoulder at the one of the dorm’s wall clocks. _2:20. Fuck._

He thought about going back- pillow in hand and tail between his legs- but thought better of it.

...but... If he didn’t go back he was left without anywhere to sleep.

Of course, if Helen was planning on spending the night with Paris, then her bed would be empty. He thought of how awkward it would be to sneak across campus after hours, pillow in hand, and knock on Pyrrha’s door in the middle of the night. His face flushed as he imagined her opening the door to see him with his too-tight sleeping shorts and disastrous hair. _No way._

Around 2:30 he heard his dorm’s assistant, Apollo, walking around and strumming a ukelele. He weighed his options of getting caught and possibly getting detention vs. just the plain embaressment of getting caught by him before ducking into a nearby bathroom and hiding. At least he’d have a decent enough excuse if he were in the bathroom. He locked himself in a stall and waited.

It took a painfully long time for Apollo’s strumming to grow louder, and even longer for it to fade. Patroclus waited in the stall, pillow against the wall and his head against the pillow. Any other day he might have been biting his fingernails and holding his breath, but exhaustion had started to seep into his being. Anxiety was replaced by a desperate need for sleep, and nail biting was replaced for droopy eyelids. The melodic and gentle melody that his DA was playing somewhere nearby certainly wasn’t helping him stay alert.

_He’ll be gone soon...then I can...I can find somewhere else to sleep….Just a few more minutes…._

***

“Dude c’mon! You’ve been in there all morning!” The yell was accompanied by someone pounding on the stall door. Patroclus jerked awake, nearly falling off of the toilet as he did.

The first thing he noticed was the blinding fluorescent lights. Then the noise. Then the _smell._    

“Shit.” He whispered. Had he really fallen asleep? When? He groaned, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Dude!” The voice yelled and knocked again. “What are you, like, dead?”

Patroclus grabbed his pillow and stood, emitting another groan. “No, but I’m halfway there.”

The guy scoffed and regarded him with mild disinterest as he walked passed him and out of the small. It would seem his small love for existential humor (and apparent frequency for finding himself in unfortunate situations) was not shared by the stranger.

Groggy and pissed, Patroclus made his way back to his room. He thought about burning the pillow- after all it had spent the better part of the night pressed against his dorm’s bathroom stalls. He thought about killing Paris, or at least castrating him, so that he would never be forced to endure another night like that one. He finally thought about Pyrrha, and how she spent the night alone and at peace. Despite the dread and feeling of overwhelming anxiety that was currently overtaking him (and always overtook him after almost any social interaction) he was thankful his tired mind hadn’t thought that disrupting her would have been a good idea.  

He can’t imagine what he would have even done in that situation. _Hi, Pyrrha. Yes, hello hi well- um- you see, our roommate are banging and I was wondering if I could maybe bother you- no. Yes. I know it’s 3 am and I’m half dressed, but I’m not- oh is that mace? Okay cool well I’ll just be going then._

He shook his head as he walked down the hallway as if to physically shake himself of his own thoughts. He really needed to get better at not imagining the worst possible scenario.

 

Patroclus got back to his room about the same time Helen was leaving it. He offered her a strained _hello_ and she gave a sleepy _hey, Pat._

He found himself unable to be too terribly mad at her (he _told_ himself it was because she was Pyrrha’s roommate and best friend), but he let it be after that. He didn’t want to seem too fine with it and end up spending the rest of his semester sleeping in bathroom stalls.   

“Morning, sunshine.” Paris was sprawled out across his bed, looking far more like a cat basking in the sun than anything else.

“Nice bedhead.” He snorted, going straight for his own bed and collapsing.

Paris laughed sleepily. “Helen would agree.”

“Ugh.” Patroclus rolled his eyes.

“So, how was Pyrrha?” Paris asked, sitting up with a smile that made Patroclus second guess everything.

“How should I know?” He didn’t mirror his roommate actions. Instead he groaned into his none toilet stall infected pillow as his neck decided to feel a new and random pain.

“You mean you didn’t go to her and Helen’s room last night?” Paris pouted. His finger wrecked curls fell in his face. Patroclus blamed his sudden want to brush it back on sleep deprivation. He was, for whatever reason, finding it even harder to stay mad at Paris than it was to stay made at Helen. “But that was the whole plan.”

That got Patroclus’ attention off of Paris’ hair.

He raised himself on his arms, trying his best at a glare (that in reality probably looked more like a wounded owl).”What plan?”

“Helen and I send you out of the room- and I get something out of it by getting laid, so don’t worry about trying to make it up to me-” Patroclus rolled his eyes, pulling his knees under him so that he could sit on them. “-and then you go to Pyrrha’s room and get in some solid makeout time.”

“At 3 a.m.?” He was now finding it hard to find it hard to be mad at him.

“The earlier the better, Pat. You’re at your cutest when you’re all sleepy and pouty and your hairs all over the place like it is right now.”

He self consciously ran a hand through his hair at his friend’s words. His finger got stuck and he tried to pull it out as quickly as possible.

Patroclus watched as Paris plopped back down and rested on his back. “Helen and I are geniuses.”

“You won’t be saying that when Menelaus comes after you to kick your ass for stealing his girl.”

“Oh.” Paris whined and covered his face with his hands. “Don’t remind me.”

Patroclus’ eyes lingered on him for a little longer than they should have, and before he could look away, Paris had removed his hands and made eye contact with him.

“You’ve got beautiful eyes. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Uh-” Patroclus felt his face heat up. _Why can’t I take a compliment from the guy without blushing? What the fuck is wrong with me?_ “No.”

“That’s a shame.” Paris turned a little in order to face him more. More hair fell in his eyes, but Patroclus didn’t want to brush it back this time. No, this time he wanted to stay as far away from him as possible.

Alright, okay, so maybe it _was_ impossible for him to hate Paris. Well, in that moment it was.

Before Paris ruined it.  

“Helen hates to cuddle- will you cuddle with me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Patroclus laid back down on his stomach, head facing in the opposite direction of Paris so that he didn’t have to be subjected to his pathetic pout. “Because I’m not going to be a 2-bit stand in for your post coidal cuddle needs.”

Patroclus didn’t mention how foreign the thought of platonic affectionate touches were, let alone _cuddling_ a friend. Seriously, what was wrong with this roommate?

He heard Paris snicker quietly behind him. “Well, you don’t have to be a _stand-_ ”

“-don’t finish that joke.” Patroclus glared a hole into his FKA Twigs poster as he spoke.

“Maybe it wasn’t a joke. Maybe it was a genuine offer.”

Patroclus squeezed his eyes shut and wondered if he should have just stayed the stall. “Then don’t finish that _genuine offer.”_

Paris snickered- well, it was really more of a _giggle_ \- and Patroclus heard the springs under his mattress groan as he moved to stand. Patroclus let himself groan as well when he felt Paris’ weight on the edge of his bed.

He tried to stop his body from going entirely rigid when he felt Paris’ fingers in his hair.

“You should really let me do something with this. I’ve got the perfect products to help settle your curls.” Paris sighed, finger dropping to where his hairline faded into the back of his neck. “You’ve got so many freckles. I love it.”

Patroclus was too busy forcing himself to breathe normally to respond, so he just nodded as best he could with his cheek against a pillow.

Paris withdrew his hand suddenly. Patroclus tried not to breath a sigh of relief. “Does it bother you when I touch you?” His voice was soft, softer and quieter than Pat had ever heard him.

“Yes.” Patroclus winced inwardly. That was way harsher than he intended it to sound. “I mean, no. Not really. I’m just...not used to being touched so much.”

“Your family must be way different from mine, then.” Paris sighed, voice still soft. “We’re all over each other all the time, and not just fighting like you saw Hector and I do the other day.”

“I guess that’s the difference between being an only child and having siblings then.” He felt like he had already told Paris was too much about himself by telling him his-less-than fortunate dating history, so he wasn’t about to tell him anything about his home life.

“You’re an only child? I can’t imagine what that’s like.” Paris rest his back against the foot of Pat’s bed, legs resting on the bed and running along his side. Patroclus tried to ignore how soft his skin felt against time- both because he didn’t want to be reminded of how late Paris had kept him up the other day by shaving his legs, and because he really ( _really)_ hated people touching his sides and chest.

“I’ve got, like, a billion brothers and sister.” Paris said. There was an underlying hint of fondness in his voice, and it almost made Patroclus wish that he had a sibling or two growing up.

Patroclus had heard of Paris’ family before, of course. They were a very wealthy and longstanding family the business world- something his father had long since strived to be- and the sheer amount of children that his father, Priam, had was something unbelievable.

“How does your dad keep up with all of you?”

“We have a groupchat.” Paris said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Patroclus had to bite back a fit of laughter. “What?”

Patroclus looked over his shoulder to see Paris’ face colored with offense.

“Nothing, nothing.” Patroclus turned so that he was on his side, facing Paris. Paris stuck out his tongue and shoved his feet in his face. Patroclus laughed again, trying to smack them away. Paris was persistant, still pretending to try to kick him while the two of them laughed. Patroclus got grip of his right foot and forced it down on the bed. That he could handle.

“Before soccer, I did wrestling.”

“Is that a threat, Patty-cakes?” Paris smirked. It must have been infectious, because Patroclus was smiling back before he could help himself.

“No-” It was Patroclus’ turn to laugh at his own dumb joke. “It’s a _genuine offer.”_

***

The rest of the morning was spent play wrestling and getting ready for the day.

Paris, Patroclus discovered, was far stronger than he looked. He could really hold his own. Well, against Patroclus anyway.

“How does this look?” Patroclus turned around to look at him. He was clad in acid washed denim jeans and a red button up shirt. His long hair was straightened and groomed to perfection (but that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary).

“Yeah.” Patroclus slid his cardigan over his forearms- black to offset the purple on his t-shirt.

“” _Yeah”_ like it looks fine or “ _yeah”_ like it could be better?” He did air quotations around the yeahs. Patroclus tried to ignore his friend’s current neediness. He knew that he was probably just nervous about what was about to happen.

“Yeah like it looks good.” Patroclus grabbed his converse and slid them on his feet.

Paris laughed, watching him for a second before fixing his hair in the mirror above his desk. “It would be easier if you untied to laces.”

“Probably.” Was all Patroclus said. His personal philosophy, if he had one, was that a guy dating another guy’s girlfriend didn’t have the right to tell him the easiest way to slide on shoes.

He didn’t get Paris.

At all.

Here the guy was about to tell one of the best football players in their high school that he was seeing his girlfriend, and all he was worried about was whether he looked good or not. It didn’t make any sense, but Patroclus gave his roommate the benefit of the doubt and thought that maybe ( _maybe)_ Menelaus wasn’t the confrontal type. Maybe, Patroclus thought, Menelaus hates fighting just as much as Paris proclaims to, and there won’t be a confrontation.

Maybe.

Stupid new kids.

 

***

The confrontation had gathered an impressive crowd. Apparently someone had somehow and for some reason tipped off a great deal of the students. Patroclus stood on the side- equidistant between both Paris and Menelau- and watched.

Paris looked like a snake: sly, tricky, and calculating.

Menelaus looked like a bull: aggressive, angry, and ready to stomp down his opposition.

Achilles, who had now found his way by the other boy’s side, didn’t know who’s odds he fancied more. But if he was putting money on it- and if he wasn’t currently in a dress- he would have bet on Menelaus. They guy had been his friend since Kindergarten, and he figured that he owed him at least the slightest bit of loyalty (even if his older brother was a complete ass).

“Yikes.” Achilles whispered, hoping Patroclus could hear him over the whispers of their classmates.

“Yikes is right.” Patroclus said, mainly to himself, before he looked down at who spoke. Once he saw Achilles (who he still thought to be Pyrrha) his ears turning a little pink against the normally dark color of his skin, and he smiled before looking away quickly. “Oh- uh- Hey, Pyrrha.”

“I heard some of the DA’s were placing bets with teachers.” He leaned closer, going up on his tiptoes a little to be closer to Patroclus’ ear level.

“That’s ridiculous. Why do they care? And why does it matter who Helen’s dating anyway?” Patroclus all but scoffed at the scene before them. Achilles was torn between not wanting to miss the first punch and wanting to look at Patroclus.

He felt he should explain that things at Olympia high were a little...traditional. Traditional meaning that expectations of students were completely dated and sexiest, therefore making having your girl “stolen” be at the top of the list of most humiliating things to happen to you.

But he, still posing as a random new girl, settled for a simple. “Who knows.”

Menelaus and Paris stepped closer to one another, and as they did Agamemnon moved to stand behind his brother. Achilles felt his fingers twitch, almost like his body was begging him to step forward and join the fight.

He looked down at his dress, pulling on the bottom of it. _Calm down._ He hissed at him. _They’ll know who you are the second you start throwing punches._

Stupid dresses.

Stupid gender roles.

Stupid transphobia.

Stupid Aut- no. _I can’t blame Automedon for this. It’s not his fault._

To distract himself from his own thoughts, he looked back up to find Patroclus looking down at where the neckline of his dress cut just below the clavicle. Both turned pick and looked at towards the impending fight (though, at this point it was a little better than a shouting match between Helen and Menelaus).

Patroclus, ashamed of being caught, and Achilles, a little ashamed because what Patroclus was looking at was little more than an extra padded bra and careful chest contouring, were both trying to think of conversation topics. Patroclus was the first to come up with something, and what he came up with was the most sterotypical guy excuse ever.  

“Your necklace, um, I was looking at it. It’s nice.” Patroclus’ ears were almost impressively pink by now. Achilles wanted to roll his eyes and call him out on the fact that he was _in fact_ not looking at his necklace, but instead he found his previously twitching hands gripping his the star shaped pendant.

“Oh thanks. It’s Helen’s I think. We-” _share clothes and makeup all the time._

Achilles’ words were cut off by Helen yelling.

“STOP! STOP FIGHTING!” She was standing over Paris, who was lying on the ground holding his bleeding nose.

“I said not the face!” Paris squealed. _Pathetic._ Achilles thought.

Patroclus started to move, as fast as he could, to help his roommate, but Achilles was faster. He grabbed Patroclus’ hand and pulled him back to the sidelines.

“Don’t get involved.”

“But it’s two on one, Pyrrha. It’s not fair.” Patroclus tried to pull his wrist away, but Achilles was stronger and continued to hold it. _So noble._ Achilles thought.

Despite their contact being somewhat forced, Achilles still felt his skin tingle where the other boys’ fingers brushed against it. He tried to ignore it, though, and focus on the situation. _Stupid._ Achilles thought.  

“I know, but Helen’s stopping it. If you side with one person this one time, then you get dragged into a whole ordeal.”

“My friend needs me, Pyrrha. He’s your best friend’s boyfriend.” Patroclus looked regarded him with wounded curiosity. He probably thought that Achilles (or Pyrrha, rather) was different than the rest of the school. He probably thought that he (she) was beyond listening to every thread of gossip in hopes of getting into a fight. He was probably wrong. “They need us.” He said after a long minute, and Achilles released Patroclus’ hand, a little taken aback. No one had ever stood up to him before- no one had ever told him what to do before. Well, they had, (note his Sophomore year incident with Agamemnon) but no one had ever done so with any success. He was surprised Patroclus’ noncompliance hadn’t sent him into a raged, and he was even more surprised when he felt himself being willingly pulled into the center of the conflict.

Patroclus let go of his hand, which still tingled from his touch, to drop to his knees to help Paris stand up.

“Two on one- that’s not fair.” Patroclus hissed to Paris before inspecting to see if his nose was broken. Paris was almost magically better when Patroclus had said that it wasn’t broken, just bruised and bloody.

“The new kid is right.” Odysseus stepped forward from where he’d been standing on the sideline. Achilles’ heart dropped into his stomach when he realized that Odysseus had been standing right next to him the entire time he and been talking to Patroclus. _FUCK._

“Who’s side are you on?” Menelaus asked, popping the fingers on his right hand.

“My own.” Odysseus smiled, but dropped it when he saw his attempt at humor hadn’t done anything to diffuse the situation. “Look, you’ve got to settle this like men. If you insist on your older brother helping, then it’s only fair that Paris have his older brother help him fight as well.

Achilles watched Paris shift so that all his weight was leaning against Patroclus dramatically. Achilles felt his jealousy flare within him- his initial thoughts going right for _pathetic baby, probably isn’t hurt that bad_ and dangerous thoughts of wishing for Patroclus to hold him like that to, finally, _calm down, Achilles. You don’t have some kind of claim over him. He’s barely an acquaintance._

“Fine.” Menelaus grunted. He looked a little disappointed, and Achilles had no doubt that he was disappointed that he didn’t get the chance to fight. Achilles felt it too, that longing- that need to prove himself through his strength. But he couldn’t let himself dwell on it. This wasn’t last year when he could go around and say or do anything that he pleased. Now he had to think about keeping up appearances, about the best ways to hold himself. About what to do and how to keep Odysseus’ eyes off of him.

“Fine.” Agamemnon grunted in a similar way to his brother. “Paris and one of his brothers can meet us here in a week for a real fight. Two on two.”

Paris nodded, still leaning against a very annoyed (okay, so he wasn’t really annoyed looking but Achilles liked to think that he was) looking Patroclus. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

Helen herself had shrunk against the crowd uncharacteristically. Achilles made a mental note to ask her why later. She was more than capable of taking care of both herself and Paris. She was more than some pathetic damsel in distress screaming for help, so why was she suddenly shying away from confrontation? Hell, she was the one that started Olympia High’s all-female wrestling team.  

“I should go the nurse’s.” Paris, bringing Achilles back from his thoughts. He was now using the bottom of his undershirt to cover his nose and it brought Achilles no small joy to see one of Paris’ precious shirts ruined by his own blood. He hated to watch Paris’ fits of passion, and the way he primps and preens like the pits of fashion.

“Yeah...can you get there by yourself?” Patroclus asked, looking at where Agamemnon and the rest of his friends (including Odysseus and Diomedes) had sat at across the quad.

“I can take him.” Helen followed his line of sight, offering a harsh glare at the bunch. _There_ was the Helen he knew.

Paris let go of Patroclus so Helen could wrap her arms around him. The two shared a (gross and bloody) kiss before walking off.

Patroclus watched the two leave and Achilles watched him watch them, hands tugging at the bottom of his dress once more. He let himself regard Patroclus fully.

He knew nothing about the other boy, yet something about him had piqued his interests. He had tried to write it off in front of the others saying that it was because he was attractive and new and nothing more (because what more could it be? He barely knew the guy.). But he felt something else gnaw away inside of him. Like his body knew more than his mind led on.

“Uh...well, that was interesting.” Achilles said, and Patroclus started rubbing the back of his neck- the spot where hair faded to skin. Achilles found himself wondering what it would be like to bury his face in his neck, to be surrounded by warmth and his scent. _For gods sake, Achilles._ He sighed, carefully walking to stand next to Pat.

“Very.” The taller, darker, boy said.

The two stood in silence for a few seconds. It was a comfortable silence that Achilles would have been perfectly content to live in for eternity, but a loud laugh from the group behind them ruined that.

Patroclus turned his head slightly to look at them, then looked away as quickly as possible. Achilles turned to glare at them as Helen had. The chances of his old friend group talking about them in place of, well, literally anything else, were very low, but the risk of being caught in this sitatuion were too great.

“Could you, like, maybe walk me to my room?” He put on his softest Pyrrha voice, looking up at Patroclus through his eyelashes like he had seen Helen do to both Menelaus and Paris before. Odysseus and Diomedes were way too close for comfort. He needed to get out of there and stay away from them for as long as possible.

“Uh- sure.” He smiled awkwardly, motioning for Achilles to take the lead.

Achilles did, walking at a slow pace. The two started comfortable small talk- about homework, about their shared class, and about the weather. For a guy who seemed to loathe saying more than four words at a time, Patroclus seemed to blossom when he was talking with Achilles alone. The blonde tried not to think about it too much, instead shifting the topic to the upcoming soccer try-outs. That got an exhausted groan from Patroclus, accompanied by a “don’t remind me” that made Achilles laugh.

The weather was good. The conversation was easy. They were happy. But that’s boring- too boring for Olympus high, so Achilles wasn’t surprised when he felt the cool breeze of change accompanied by the red-brown leaves of drama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant for this to be 8 chapters just it just keeps growing. RIP.  
> Should I continue this? :0  
> Does anyone wanna beta? :0  
> What do? :0


	5. The Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I told you that I loved you   
> Tell me, what would you say?   
> If I told you that I hated you, would you go away?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Everyone's least favorite twink is back with another trash update!  
> I have good news and bad news!  
> Good news (or maybe bad news, depending on your perspective, I guess): I have decided to continue this story!   
> Bad news: as of the time I’m publishing this chapter I only have, like, a month left until I start college, and during that month ya boy’s decided to get himself a job. So, we’ll see about regular updates (lmao more like “if u thought my updates were unreliable before”).
> 
> I also have to give a highkey shout out to my bombass beta (who puts up with both my inconsistency and drag queen obsession in addition to the many errors I make), @aneternaladventure

Another friday night, another makeout session between Helen and Paris. 

Another shitty friday night, another goddamn makeout session between Helen and Paris.

Patroclus had been resolved to stay, knowing that the only option he had if he left the room would be to go to Pyrrha and Helen’s room, and he would rather die than do  _ tha _ \- the sound of springs being squeaked and grinded into oblivion accompanied to Paris’ loud whimpering filled the room suddenly-  _ er _ , maybe it wasn’t the worst option in the world. 

Patroclus, eyes squeezed shut and face red, started to weigh his options. On one hand he faced the very (very) likely chance of making a complete ass out of himself in front of his crush, and on the other hand he faced 6 hours of his roommate’s whimpering and moaning.  

It took all of 3 whimperfilled minutes before he decided that, if anything, he could always sleep in the stall again  _ (and yes, sleeping in a bathroom stall was actually a better option than rooming with Paris). _ With that thought in mind- and tidal wave of discomfort washing over him- he got up as fast as humanly possible and left the room. He barely remembered to grab his pillow.

 

He made his way down the hallway, the familiar but lonely sound of his bare feet against the marble flooring was once again joined by the sound of shuffling sandals and the sound of some sort of string instrument being played. 

Panic seized Patroclus. In his haste to leave his room, he had completely forgotten all about his almost run-in with Apollo last week. When the ukulele playing stopped, he thought Apollo had disappeared down a different hallway. 

No such luck.

 

“You there, stop. Where you’re going?” Apollo’s voice sounded just like Patroclus had expected: Authoritative and a bit like a mall cop who’d just received his first taser from central office, but his voice suddenly changed into a mildly surprised and even friendly tone as Patroclus turned around to face him. “Wait you’re Patroclus- Paris’ roommate right?”

 

“Yeah.” Patroclus tried to sound as calm as he did; he feared that sounding panicked might make the DA assume that he was sneaking out for nefarious purposes rather than in search of a peaceful place to sleep. 

 

“I figured Helen and Paris’ make out session would get a little too hot and heavy for you.” He flashed a smile that made every hair on the back of Patroclus’ neck stand on end.

Pat himself was a little taken aback. Sure, Apollo had been friends with Paris’ older brother Hector, and sure no one at this school seemed to care all that much about the school rules but…  _ He knows? Has he been helping Helen sneak in this whole time?  _

 

“You know?” The words fell out of his mouth without grace or warning. 

 

Apollo gave another disarming smile. “You could say that.” 

 

Patroclus watched the way his Adam’s apple moved smoothly as he spoke, the way his blonde hair seemed to glow in the darkness of the hallway, and the way his smile seemed to drip a type of confidence that was as off-putting as it was attractive. He looked away from the DA, blushing and praying that it couldn’t be seen in the dark.

 

“If you’re sneaky about it and can keep a secret-“ Which Patroclus understood really meant  _ if you get caught I won’t vouch for you.  _ “-then you can sneak into the girls’ dorms and use Helen’s bed. I’m sure her roommate won’t mind.”

 

Patroclus felt every fiber of his being scream out for him to turn around kill and Paris for putting him in this situation, but he settled for giving the DA an awkward smile. Then, upon finally processing what the blonde had said, his face heated up at the thought of spending the night with Pyrrha. Throughout the last two weeks the two had traded compliments, words, and shy glances in mythology- and she’d even made a point to sit next to Patroclus at lunch- but his own awkward nature and shyness kept him from trying to make any bold advances. He had worried that she would have moved on to literally any other guy, but according to Paris (who got all his info from Helen) she was utterly  _ infatuated _ with him.

“I-uh-“ Patroclus stammered, trying to think of any excuse to avoid the situation. He couldn’t imagine the seemingly perfect girl without her perfect makeup, perfect curls, and perfectly pressed uniform on, and he worried that seeing her like that would only cement his interest in her. That is to say, that seeing anything close to who she really was behind the idle gossip and perfectly applied persona would only make him fall deeper for her. He wondered if his wild curls and over-sized Ramones t-shirt would do anything for her, or it would just repulse her. 

Apollo started strummed his ukulele idly and the sound pulled Patroclus out of his thoughts. He did that a lot- got too caught up in his own mind- and he really wished he knew how to stop.  _ If only I could make myself shut up every now and then. _

 

“If Aphrodite, the girls’ DA, gives you any trouble just tell her that I sent you. She should be fine with it, seeing as how letting Helen sneak out was her idea, uh, but forget I told you that.”

 

Patroclus’ hands gripped his pillow so hard his knuckles turned white, but still he gave a friendly smile and nod.  “Your secret’s safe with me.”

 

“I’d hope so. You seem nice and everything, but I’d have no problem pinning this all on you if shit hits the fan.” Apollo smiled again, but this smile seemed more vicious than charming. 

 

_ Fuck.  _

 

“Good- uh- good to know.” He said, and even Patroclus heard the squeak in his own voice. 

Apollo, still strumming, nodded at him before going down the hallway he had just come from. Patroclus turned a little to watch him go, weighed his options, and then caved in. 

He figured that if he didn’t go to Pyrrha’s dorm now, then Paris and Helen would keep going  _ at it  _ until he did. 

He sighed. 

The sooner the better. 

 

***

 

Achilles stared at the fake stars on his ceiling in utter agony. Helen had snuck out sometime around midnight, leaving him alone with his own thoughts, and he had hoped turning on his star field simulator would improve his mood. It was Helen’s idea actually, something about atmosphere and location being a direct influence on one’s emotions or some other new age psychological B.S. Helen had been reading for her study focus. Achilles had bought into, or rather, told himself that he did, because he hoped that he could have at least distracted himself from his thoughts of Patroclus by naming the artificial constellations and created mythology behind them. But luck didn’t seem to be favoring him. 

 

All he could think about was the way Patroclus’ curly hair blew lights in the breeze as they sat on the bleachers during lunch, the way his owlish eyes would widen and his mouth would pull into a smile each time they looked at one another in mythology, and- worst of all- the way Patroclus would be sure to point out how he liked each lipstick shade he wore. And, yes, maybe it was a little ridiculous for Achilles to wear a different shade of lipstick every day, but Patroclus didn’t seem to mind at all.

He felt like punching the wall when he remembered what Aphrodite had said to him- well, considering how loudly she said it she really said it to both him and Pat- during lunch today.

 

_ “You know,” She smiled, Cosmo magazine in hand. “It says here that if a potential romantic, or sexual, partner takes special notice in your lipstick- or if you find them staring at your lips- that means they’re subconsciously complimenting your sexual prowess.”  _

_ Achilles nearly choked on his slice of square pizza. He risked a sideways glance at Patroclus to see his face was as red as the tomato sauce that had been subsequently spat all over Achilles’ chin.  _

 

The cross-dressing blonde rolled over on his side, feeling that he would have been perfectly content if he died in his bed just then, when there was a knock at the door. 

He got up in equal parts anger and agony to open it. He had assumed it had been Helen, after all, who else could be knocking this time of night.

 

“For the last time-“ He hissed in a loud whisper as he started to unlock the door. “If you’re going to keep sneaking out with your boy- oh.”

 

Achilles swung the door open to see the very source of his dread. His eyes looked over Patroclus’ adorably unkempt curls, oversized t-shirt, and sleeping shorts (that fit him oh, so, well) and he wondered how he could ever hate himself for liking Patroclus.

 

“Hi…” Patroclus said awkwardly, offering a smiled that faltered quickly. “Our roommates are um…well I’m sure you know, so I was….wondering if I could maybe use Helen’s bed tonight?” He held up his pillow as if he needed to prove his motives.

 

Achilles nodded, stepping back to let him in. “Totally. I’d hate to be stuck in the same room as them.”

 

“Really? Thank you…but if it makes you uncomfortable I can always find somewhere else.” Even as he spoke relief flooded his features. 

 

Achilles shook his head and ushered him in. “It’s no problem.”

 

Patroclus sat his pillow down on Helen’s bed, before turning and returning her smile, and for the first time in his life Achilles felt self-conscious. Tugging gently at the bottom of his knee-length night gown, he made his way over to his bed. He could tell that Patroclus was trying hard not to look too long- or longingly- at him.  _ What a gentleman.  _

 

“For the record I don’t think you’re as gross as Aphrodite seems to think.” He self-consciously ran his hands through his long hair. Every morning he would straighten it only to re-curl it into perfect curls, but at the moment it looked little better than poodle fur.

 

“Oh- thanks.” Patroclus looked away from where he’d been staring at his hair with muted wonder.  _ He actually likes my natural hair. Great. Just fucking perfect.  _ Achilles felt the urge to punch the wall swell within him once more. Instead he settled for plopping down on his bed while Patroclus kept talking.  “Yeah…honestly I don’t know anything about makeup. I was just trying to start a conversation with you.”

 

Both of them blushed, not looking at one another. Achilles hated- and loved- everything about this situation. He’d gone seventeen years without so much as a best friend, let alone a crush, and here he was with his first crush at the  _ worst  _ possible time.

 

“You didn’t wake me up, by the way. So, you don’t have to worry about that.” Achilles found the courage to look at him. He ignored how completely naked he felt without his makeup (or pants), and tried to pretend he hadn’t spent the entire week listening to “Boyfriend” by Best Cost on repeat. He tried at a smile and searched within him to find his normal, and borderline obnoxious, level of confidence. He thought back to last track meet he’d won and the way the entire school had chanted his name, and with that in mind he crossed the barely lit room to sit on the bed next to Patroclus. Their knees touched and arms brushed against one another in a way that almost made him want to pull away. 

 

“You said you wanted to talk to me? Well, I’ve got all the time in the world for you right now.”

 

***

 

The two ended up making a blanket fort on the floor in between the two beds- piling a mixture of pillows, blankets, and the star field simulator inside of it. Conversation had been simple and a little forced at first, but before long the two were discussing everything, from the most exotic of philosophical topic to their favorite color, with an unexpected familiarity. Patroclus had even joined Achilles in his game of making new constellations and creating backstories for them. He somewhat put Achilles to shame with his creative ideas.

 

“You should be an author or a poet or something.” He smiled sometime between 4 and 5 a.m., or maybe it was 6. He’d lost track of time. Finding his confidence once more he tentatively laid his head on Patroclus’ stomach.

Patroclus blushed for probably the millionth time that night. Achilles died a little every time he did, because he found each a little more endearing than the last. Something about the boy he liked being so easily affected by the slightest bit of physical contact from him, or maybe Achilles was secretly a huge sap. He had spent the better part of his summer, and these last two weeks, pretending to be someone else, so his grip on his own sense of identity was quickly slipping.  

 

“I’ve always wanted to be, but my dad would kill me.” Patroclus said. There was a remorseful hesitation in his words, almost like he felt bad for talking about his father in such a disrespectful way. The blonde couldn’t see why- father was a class A jerk who deserved a lot worse than being talk about behind his back. 

 

“I’ve officially decided that I hate your father.” Achilles smiled softly and took Patroclus’ hand in his. He guided it to his hair. Patroclus took the hint and gently ran his fingers through it. 

Neither bothered to hide their smiles or obvious comfort with their situation.

Achilles watched his eyebrows shoot up with a sudden epiphany. “I think I do too. Like, I’ve never realized it but I honestly think that I hate him.”

 

“And there’s nothing wrong with that.” Achilles reassured, his fingers ghosting over Patroclus’ flat stomach. Patroclus nodded as best he could while lying down and sighed. Light was pouring in from the windows and painting the roof of their makeshift tent. Achilles could have died from happiness through the night, but now he felt like he could have died in anguish. He would have given anything for this moment to last forever.

“Woah.” Patroclus whispered suddenly, looking down at him. His fingers stopped just short of the bottom of his hairline.

 

“What is it?” Achilles asked. Mild panic filled him and he became hyper aware of the fact that he was still masquerading as Pyrrha. His panic was only made worse by the fact that he couldn’t remember if he’d been using his “girl” voice or not. 

“I just realized I’ve told you things that I’ve never told anyone else. Ever.” Patroclus’ voice was as gentle as a mountain stream. His hands moved to Achilles’ cheekbones and his hand cupped his face.

 

“Do you regret it?”

 

Patroclus went quiet, as if thinking over the answer to some great truth. “No…no I don’t. I trust you.”

Achilles looked into his chocolate brown eyes like the other boys’ words didn’t sting him. Like he didn’t feel as if he were stabbing him in the back.

_ I trust you.  _ Patroclus said. 

_ I wouldn’t.  _ Achilles thought.

 

“Good, because I’ve told you things that I wouldn’t even tell my diary. If I had one.” Achilles said despite the internal pain he was feeling. 

 

Patroclus smiled at him for a long moment before breaking eye contact. “Can I- can I try something.”

 

“Anything.” He spoke before thinking out all the possibilities. Patroclus shifted so that he was on his knees and Achilles followed suit. The two made eye contact, noses touching ever so slightly.

 

“Don’t feel pressured to go through with this, or whatever, if you don’t want it.”  _ Want what?  _ He wanted to ask despite already knowing Patroclus’ intent. He watched as Patroclus pressed their lips together.

 

He should have ran- pushed Patroclus away and lied about not feeling the same, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Instead, despite everything that was on the line, he kissed back. 

The kiss was awkward and unsure but they soon found a mutual rhythm. Patroclus kissed like he had no idea what he was doing- even though he did. Achilles kissed that he knew exactly what to do- even though he had no idea. Yet somehow they managed to find synch. When they finally came up for air Achilles abandoned all the worries holding him back and wrapped his arms around Patroclus’ neck. Patroclus responded by wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling Achilles towards him.

After that Patroclus kept his lips pressed to Achilles’, but showed no sign of moving his hands elsewhere or trying to get any further than kissing. For that Achilles was extremely thankful. 

His stressful week, lack of sleep, and utterly all-consuming attraction to Patroclus would have made it nearly impossible to resist any advances that he might have made, and that in and of itself would have caused a huge problem.

 

Patroclus pulled back a second time, slightly gasping for breath. Achilles took the opportunity to smother his face in kisses as abundant as Patroclus’ freckles. He could have continued like that until Helen came back in, hell even after she came back in, but a small problem arose. 

Or rather, as he liked to flatter himself, a not so small problem.

A  _ well _ above average sized problem, thank you very much.

 

He pushed away from Patroclus, panting and hoping the other boy wouldn’t notice the way he pulled a decorative pillow into his lap with lightning speed.

 

“Sorry.” Patroclus said in between unsteady breaths. His hair was messy, even messier than before before because of Achilles’ hands, and his face was flushed.

 

“Don’t be. Please, don’t be.” Achilles assured and bit his lip. He looked down at the floral patterned pillow in his lap, trying desperately to think of anything else than his own desire. “I I’ve wanted to do that since that first day in mythology.”

 

A smile split across Patroclus’ face and it seemed to radiate through the tent just like the sunlight. “Me too.”

 

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but was too afraid to. Achilles moved forward and place a gentle kiss on his cheek, pillow still pressed into his lap.

 

“Pyrrha…I was-“ Patroclus stuttered, blushing still. Achilles gave him another peck on the cheek. The another and another and another. When he pulled back Patroclus looked a little more confident in himself. “I was wondering if-” His words were cut off by the sound of Achilles’ dorm door opening and closing. 

 

“What the hell?” Helen’s groggy voice was the first thing they heard, then Paris’ signature laughter. 

 

“I told you it would work!” 

 

“Well yeah but…” There was mild anxiety in Helen’s voice. Achilles knew exactly why. Helen had assumed that Paris’ plan to get his roommate some action had worked, and Achilles was ever so slightly offended that she didn’t have more faith in his resolve.

 

“I wonder if they’re up yet.” That was Paris again. 

 

Achilles face started to color when he thought about what Paris and Helen had assumed happened last night, and then Patroclus was crawling out of their safe haven before he could be stopped. Achilles tried not to stare at his butt too much as he did. 

“Hi.” Pat said to the two sheepishly. All of his early frustration with them had once more vanished before it could turn into more permanent emotion. 

 

The blonde realized that he would have to face the music sooner or later. As he crawled out, making sure his nightgown and hair were in place still, he wondered how hard Helen would scold him for this. She had always been the “mom friend” of their social group, and so he knew that her scoldings came out of a place of love rather than annoyance...but then again if he wanted scolding then he could just as easily call his actual mother and tell her about the situation. 

 

“Hello.” He said, standing with help from Patroclus. Paris looked over the two and their tent, looking very much like a cat who’d gotten the cream.

“And you two…?” The rest of his half-formed questioned died off as he waited for them to answer. 

Helen’s dark brown eyes relaxed from their scowl and transformed into something more akin to mischief mixed with sympathy. Achilles felt himself freeze at this, because he had never seen  _ that  _ look on Helen’s face before. 

Helen nodded at Paris, who then opened his mouth to speak. Achilles felt his world falling apart. He trusted his friend, of course, but he would sooner tell Agamemnon that he was dressed as a girl than he would trust Paris with anything. 

 

“I was hoping to do this alone, to save Pyrrha the embarrassment, but you seem to be rather fond of her.” He started. “I mean, I know you are.” 

 

Achilles watched a blush creep up under Patroclus’ freckles from the side of his vision. Horror filled him.  _ What is Paris doing? _ And  _ Why isn’t Helen stopping him.  _

 

“Yeah, I- I am. She’s nice,” He turned to Achilles, as if he had just remembered that the blonde was in the room. “You’re nice.” 

 

“Just nice?” Helen asked, much to Achilles’ surprise. There was a teasing edge to her voice that he hadn’t heard before. Helen- who had been trained by her parents and by her school to always be of calm temper and mild manner. Helen- who would fight tooth and nail just for sport all the same. Helen- who looked like she needed a nap more than anyone else- was started to act more like the wild tales Clytemnestra had told about her, and it caused Achilles to wonder if there were any truth to them. He supposed that he would find out soon enough. 

 

“Would you ever consider dating a nice girl, then?” She crossed her arms over her wrinkled grey tank top. Achilles might have recognized it as the same tank top Paris had been wearing the day before had he allowed himself to focus in on the situation at all. But focusing wasn’t at all possible  right now, because why focus on something that wasn’t happening? And this wasn’t happening. No way. There was no way that Helen and Paris were asking Patroclus out for him...right?  _ Right? _

“Maybe.” Patroclus voice barely registered to Achilles- who felt like his face was mere seconds from falling off. 

 

“Maybe” Paris repeated. Achilles heard the smile in his voice, and part of him realized that he needed to stop Paris and Helen somehow. He put the pieces together in his mind, the little hints they were dropping like pieces of a child’s puzzle, and saw the corner that Helen was allowing him to be painted into. 

 

Helen ran a hand through her hair, her smile losing all sense of sympathy now. “Pyrrha...well, I’m sure Paris has told you how crazy she is about you.”

 

“I have.” Paris answered, then looked to Achilles.. “And, Pyrrha, I’m sure you know how much Patroclus likes you.”  

 

The blonde prayed for every god that had ever been mentioned in their mythology classroom to smite him in that moment.

 

“And...she wanted me to ask you out for her.” Patroclus looked at Achilles in silent disbelief. 

Achilles opened his mouth to say something- something against this idea. He could lie and say that Helen and Paris were lying, or maybe that they had misheard, or maybe that his mother wouldn’t approve?  _ Something _ .  _ Anything.  _

But before he could form the proper words, or any words at all, Patroclus was already saying  _ yes. Yes that I would love to go on a date with Pyrrha.  _

And Helen was already saying  _ wonderful, pick her up tonight.  _

And Paris was already clapping Patroclus on the back and leading him out of the room. 

 

When the door slammed shut behind the boys Achilles snapped back to reality. 

“Helen, what the  _ fuck?”  _ He asked, stomping his foot like a child. 

 

“What?” She asked, pulling her thick black hair back into a ponytail. “If anything I think you should thank me.” 

 

“Thank you?” Achilles scoffed. “You’ve been hanging out with Paris way too much. Or you’re just flat out delusional. Or maybe both.”

 

“Hey! I got you a date with your first crush.” She sounded genuinely offended as she wiped the smudged lipstick off of her face. Achilles wondered if Helen had lost her mind. 

 

“At the risk of him finding out that Pyrrha is really Achilles and reporting us!” Achilles ran his hands through his hair. He pressed the heels on his hands against his eyes until patterns swam across his vision. 

He heard the squeak of Helen’s mattress- a sign she’d laid down- and the rustle of sheets. 

“This is so bad! How can you even think sleep at a time like this?” He pulled his hands away from his eyes to glare at her. Sure enough she was fast asleep, leaving him to suffer in silence (and clean up the blanket fort all on his own). 

 

He looked over at the pile of pillow- at the top of it all Patroclus’ forgotten pillow left behind. Achilles looked over at Helen’s sleeping form and, when he was sure she was asleep, he picked up Patroclus’ pillow and pressed his nose to it. He inhaled the other boy’s scent, ignoring all sense of shame that arose within him. 

When he pulled the pillow away, Helen was sitting up in her bed and watching him with shocked amusement. 

_ God dammit.  _

 

***

 

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Patroclus muttered, adjusting the too-colorful bowtie. The more he looked his outfit over, the more he regretting giving into Paris and letting him pick it out. There was way too much color- a lilac short-sleeved button down and a horrid purple, mauve, and seafoam watercolor patterned tie that might as well have been from the 80’s, but at least  he drew the line when Paris had suggested jeans that weren’t black and shoes that weren’t converse.

 

“I can! Even Aphrodite thinks you two are cute!” Paris smiled, polaroid camera in hand like he was an overbearing mother from whatever decade Patroclus’ bowtie had crawled out of. He raised the camera to his eye, squinting and looking through the lens. “Oh! Just like that, but with the flowers you bought her! And smile!”

 

“Please don’t.”  Patroclus sighed, but the supposed annoyance in his voice was almost unheard. In all honesty he was enjoying the attention and, yes, even the stupid outfit. Not that he would ever admit that to Paris. 

 

“You’re right.” Paris lowered the camera with a neutral expression, only to raise it with a face splitting smile. “I’ll wait to get pictures of you and Pyrrha.”

Patroclus rolled his eyes, something he could tell he’d be doing a lot this year, and picked up the red roses he’d bought for Pyrrha.  _ The same color as her lipstick on the first day of school.  _ He’d told Paris when he dragged him into the florist off campus. 

Patroclus’ walk over to the girls’ dorm might have been completely allowed and accompanied, but it was no less nerve wracking than the one he made in the early hours of the morning. Paris was quick to pick up on his roomie’s mood once the obvious symptoms of anxiety (heavy breathing and shaking hands) sat in, so he offered a quick “You’ll be okay. She’s way into you.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right. I hope at least.”  Patroclus sighed, praying to every star in the sky that tonight would go well. He jumped a little with Paris clapped him on the back, but both pretended it didn’t happen.

 

“I know I am, and while you two are off at your museum and picnic, I’ll be taking Helen out too.” Paris’ arm tightened its grip about Patroclus’ shoulders. He had that look on his face, Patroclus noticed, the same look he got when he looked up at the stars or read poetry. Pat didn’t know a lot about either of them- nor did he know anything about relationships- but he took that to be a good sign. He knew that he would want the person he loved to look at his as if he were a masterpiece, and still be able to treat him as an equal.  _ Pyrrha is a work of art- a masterpiece that should be worshipped for years on end.  _ He thought.

“You’ve got that look on your face.” Paris said it so quietly that Patroclus didn’t even hear him. “The same look you get when you’re painting or reading.”

 

“What?” The look instantly fell from Patroclus’ face and was replaced by his anxiety. Quickly he bit his lower lip. He wondered if Paris was a secret mind reader, or if every idiot in love was the same.

 

“You get this goofy smile on your face and your eyes scrunch up a little.” Paris let himself smile at his roommates awkwardness, and Patroclus let himself ignore it. “Were you thinking about her?”

 

Patroclus looked down at the flowers in his hand, hoping his cheeks weren’t the shade of red. “Yeah, I was.”

 

“Good.” Paris held open the door for them. He gave a friendly hug to the DA, Aphrodite,- who, as he found out that fateful day at lunch, was the same pink haired girl in his mythology class- before running to catch up to Patroclus. Camera in hand he smiled. “This is a great night for the two of us, really. Like I said I think it’s fate. We’re fated to be friends, Pat.”

 

“If you say so.” He said in a tone that was close enough to being dismissive (but not quite there).  Patroclus could appreciate what little he had seen of his roommate’s oddities over the last two weeks, but his belief in some all-powerful master plan controlling the events of their life was a little…farfetched. It was almost like he believed in the three fates they’d learned about in mythology.

 

“What, you don’t believe in fate? You’ve got to believe in something.” Paris’ arm found its way around Patroclus’ shoulders once more. Paris was like a lizard, Patroclus thought, he couldn’t survive without something warm to cuddle up to.

 

“I believe in a lot of things.” He said neutrally. In all honestly, Patroclus wasn’t sure what he’d believed in. His parents had never shown any interest in religion- what with his mother in her “health clinics” and his father spending most of his time at his company’s headquarters in London, Texas. “I’ll believe in fate if this date goes well. How about that?”

 

“Deal.” Paris gave another dazzling grin as they reached the girls’ door. “You want to do the honors?”

 

Patroclus responded by gently knocking on the door. He heard Helen’s voice, albeit muffled, and then nothing. He had just raised his fist to knock again when the door swung open to reveal his date.

 

To put it lightly, Patroclus was completely blown away. She was wearing a lilac dress and matching heels, and while it might not have been considered anything “special” Patroclus was blown away by how stunning she was.

He forced himself to say something other than the annoyingly cliché  _ “um..you look…wow”  _ line that had been used in literally every teen romance movie.

 

“You look amazing.” He made  _ that face  _ again, goofy smile and all.

 

Pyrrha smiled shyly. “You don’t look half bad yourself.”

 

“Um, these are for you.” He handed her the roses, limbs moving stiffly. “I hope you like them. They’re red, like, well…I don’t even think I should say now.” 

 

He casted a glance at where Aphrodite stood next to Paris, who had quietly followed him and Paris.

 

Pyrrha laughed softly and handed the flowers to Helen. “I love them.”

 

“So, ready to go? I, uh, planned out  the date already if that’s okay.”  

Patroclus offered his arm out to Pyrrha. She wrapped her hand around his bicep softly- with eyes even softer than her touch. Patroclus felt like he could have died of happiness right then, but despite all of his happiness he was beginning to hate the feeling of everyone’s eyes on them.

 

“I’m ready to see what you’ve got planned for us.” She squeezed his arm gently, and the two started to make their way down the hall.

 

***

 

The first half in their date was a little picnic that Patroclus and Paris had set up on the shore of the school’s private beach. And yes, this school was ridiculous enough to have a private beach. Patroclus would, with permission, help fix Pyrrha’s dress whenever the wind messed it up, and he even carried her heels as they walked along the shore.

 

“I hope you like what I packed- I actually made it myself with a few things I took from culinary.” He said as they sat on the sand covered blanket. He quickly rationed out the packed food and dishes.

 

Her eyes light up, impressed, and she took a glass full of sparkling water. “You’re in culinary too?”

 

“Yeah.” He admitted shyly. He was a little embarrassed to admit that he still hadn’t picked a study focus like every other senior. “I’m a little unsure of what I want to do.”

 

“That’s cool though, I mean, at least you get to pick.” She intertwined her left hand with his and used her right hand to pop a grape in her mouth. “My mom pretty much told me that I was going to follow in her footsteps.”

 

“I think my father would sooner chop off his left hand than have me run his company.” Patroclus took a bite of his pasta salad, cringing at the taste of excess vinegar. He watched as Pyrrha took a bite, and was relieved when she seemed unphased. 

 

“So you said.” She swallowed. Patroclus watched her neck, noticing a small bulge against the middle, much like his own neck. It was obvious Pyrrha had taken great care to try and hide this with makeup, so he looked away quickly. His eyes focused on the shore and his mind centered on chewing. “I hate your father.”

 

“So  _ you  _ said.” He looked back at her and smiled warmly. He looked down at his own shirt and then her dress, and he realized that Paris had probably forced him to wear the stupid bowtie so that they would match. “Poor Paris didn’t get his pictures.”

 

Pyrrha laughed a little. “Normally I wouldn’t want to indulge him, but I would like a picture of us on our first date.”

 

“Me too.” He smiled and she leaned over to kiss him. She tasted like pasta with too much vinegar and grapes, but he could have kissed her forever. Regardless of what she tasted like. He hoped Paris was would still have his camera ready when they got back. 

 

“So, what other classes are you taking? Obviously mythology and culinary…and I think you said clinical studies last night?” The wind coming off of the shore line died down. She shifted so that she was laying with her head on his lap. Without thinking Patroclus started to pet her hair in time to the waves that were crashing before them, careful to not mess up her perfectly done curls.

 

“I’m taking an art class too- AP painting and design.” He looked down at her face, the way her pink lips parted a little and her cheeks flushed. He wanted to kiss her face all over, just like she had done to him that morning, but was afraid to mess up her makeup. “What about you? The only one I know is mythology.”

 

“I’m taking advanced chamber orchestra, business management, international business studies, Japanese 4, and advanced marketing.” She listed each class off of her perfectly manicured fingers. 

 

Patroclus watched with heightened interest and an exasperated sigh.“Woah. How do you have time to do anything?” 

 

“If it’s important, you make time.” She hummed and leaned into his touch. He wanted to ask what she meant by that, and if he was important enough for her to make time for him, but then she spoke and all questions died in his throat. “I never want this moment to end.” 

 

“Me either.” He agreed. His eyes ghosted over the middle of her throat once more. He watched the small bulge rise and fall as she swallowed a grape, but he looked away before she could grape another fruit. It wasn’t his business, he decided.  

 

They ended up blowing off the museum and watching the sun set over the shore. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ??? eh?? What did you guys think???


	6. Anthems Of A Seventeen Year Old Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> used to be one of the rotten ones and I liked you for that.  
> now you're all gone got your makeup on and you're not coming back  
> can't you come back?

“So, uh, I had a really nice time tonight.” Patroclus smiled, and watched as his date’s face turned a rosy pink. 

 

“Me too.” Achilles nervously fidgeted with the bottom of his sand coated dress. He knew he should have felt guilty, but he couldn’t bring himself to ruin such a happy moment. Selfish, he knew. Selfish Achilles. Spoiled Achilles, who always wanted to have his cake and eat it too. Why Deidamia broke up with him.  _ Achilles You idiot. _ “I would really like to do this again.” 

 

“Yeah,” Patroclus smiled, then repeated more excitedly. “Yeah. Totally.” 

 

“Cool.” Achilles smiled at him. He then looked off and waited for Patroclus to make the next move, like a girl would be expected to do. 

 

“Cool.” His date repeated awkwardly. They stood staring at each other for a few frozen moments, silence hanging around them. 

 

When it looked like Patroclus wasn’t about to do anything, Achilles stepped up.  _ Okay, so maybe I’m pretty shit at gender roles.  _

 

“Next friday then? I’ll pick you up at 7?” 

 

Patroclus’ eyes light up and he was just on the cusp of saying something like  _ “yes. Yes please”  _ when his expression suddenly fell. “I can’t do Fridays. Soccer season is starting up, and we have after school practices almost every day until our first game.” 

 

“Saturday then?” Achilles urged, not caring if he seemed desperate. 

 

“Saturday works.” A small, warm, smile spread across Patroclus’ lips. The blonde couldn’t help but mirror it. 

 

Achilles leaned towards him and pressed their lips together. A round of giggling could be heard from behind the door, and it made Achilles’ face burn with equal parts irritation and embarrassment. Patroclus pulled away, his face shining with another another awkward smile. 

“I think you have company.” 

 

“I think I have to kill Helen.” He muttered, looking up at his dorm door’s peep hole with a glare cold enough to freeze hell over twice. 

 

“Which I think is my cue to leave.” Patroclus scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. 

 

Achilles smiled at him, slowly growing to absolutely adore Patroclus’ naturally awkward demeanor. He decided to stop waiting on Patroclus to do things, as gender roles would demand, and instead took matters into his own hands. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Patroclus’ neck and pulled the taller guy down so their lips met. Patroclus instantly kissed back, his lips hesitating only so that he could match the pace that Achilles had already set, and as a result, Achilles noticed that his date seemed to be holding back a lot less than he normally did. 

 

“That kiss was...wow.” Patroclus pulled back, grinning less awkwardly this time. 

 

“Maybe I should take charge more often then?” Achilles teased. He didn’t miss the way his date’s freckled cheeks dimpled in the most beautiful way as his smile grew. 

 

“Maybe you should.” He looked like he was going to say something else, but another fit of giggling from behind his door cause the words to turn into an embarrassed stutter. “I should- uh- go.” 

 

“You don’t have to, really. It won’t take me that long to put Helen out of her misery.” 

 

Patroclus only laughed at that and shook his head. “No, it’s fine. Paris is probably waiting up for me anyway.” 

 

The mental image of Paris, wearing his silk red pajamas and waiting up for Patroclus like a doting mother would her son, made Achilles bite his lip to keep from laughing. “Well, we don’t want his highness to worry too much, now do we? I’ll see you in mythology.” 

 

“Text me.” Patroclus gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before turning and leaving. 

Achilles watched him go, leaning against the door. He realized he was probably enjoying the sight of him leaving a little  _ too  _ much but, who could look away from that butt in those skinny jeans? 

Whoever was on the other side of the door, apparently, because before Patroclus was 3 feet away, it opened, causing Achilles to nearly (he gave a quick thank you to his former olympic gymnast mother for his amazing reflexes) fall over. He caught himself and looked up to see Clytemnestra, Helen, and his worst nightmare. 

Okay, his ex-girlfriend Deidamia. But. Same difference right? 

Deidamia looked at him, wide eyed and curious, like she was seeing an old friend for the first time in a while. Which, Achilles realized, wasn’t all that far from truth, but it still felt a little too close for comfort for Achilles’ taste. He quickly went next to Helen’s side, hoping that she might shield him from his ex’s prying gaze. Helen seemed to be distressed, but taking great effort to hide her distress.

 

“Hey,” He said to her, then the other two. Putting extra effort into both his “girl” voice and avoiding eye contact with the fox-like redhead. 

 

“The three of us were enjoying you and your date’s little show.” Helen said teasingly, like everything was fine and Satan Herself ( _ okay so maybe she wasn’t  _ that  _ bad)  _ wasn’t in the room with them.

 

“Hello, Pyrrha. I must say you and Patroclus are quite cute together,” Clytemnestra smiled at him, but it was one of those  _ “I’m better than you” _ smiles that her boyfriend, Agamemnon, was an expert at giving. There was a brief pause in Clytemnestra’s speaking, during which Achilles mentally went over all of the nearby escape routes “but that’s not why I’m here. Helen and I-”

 

“-and me.” Deidamia interjected, never one to be left out.  _ Nice to know she hasn’t changed.  _

 

“And Deidamia, of course, were just about to begin discussing your dorm situation.” 

 

“My dorm situation?” He asked, looking between the three girls. Helen and her sister had never been particularly close, so it didn’t seem likely that Helen had told Cly their plan. Plus, Deidamia would have already made a scene had she known he was Achilles, which meant that she didn’t know. That boded well for him at least. He hoped. 

 

Deidamia scoffed. Achilles noticed that her hair was done up in the same type of topknot bun as Clytemnestra's ebony hair.  _ Cheerleaders.  _ “What school did you even transfer from? Public school?” 

 

“Deia, it’s alright. Pyrrha’s old school probably did things a little differently.” Cly shot her an annoyed look. Achilles tried not to look like he enjoyed his ex getting shut down too much, but failed. That earned him a strange look from the red head.  _ Crap.  _ “Look, I know you and Helen have been getting along famously, but you are going to have to switch out rooms.” 

 

“What?” He felt his pulse bottom out. He looked over to Helen, whose dark eyes went wide in shock, like she was trying to communicate something, but whatever she was trying to say was lost on him. “Who would I be rooming with?” 

 

“Me, most likely.” Deia answered. 

 

_ Oh like hell I am.  _ Achilles thought, giving Helen another desperate look. “What are they talking about?” 

 

“It’s tradition for the captain of the cheer team's roommate to be her co-captain.” The shock that had earlier colored Helen’s features was gone now. That comforted Achilles somewhat, despite the reality of what she was saying. Helen then turned to her sister, eyes narrowed. “And it seems my sister is so vain as to think that the title should just be handed to her.” 

 

Clytemnestra made an indignant sound, obviously offended. “From what I’ve heard your roommate is more suited at running after boys than cheering.” 

 

“Wow, you two should have an awful lot in common then.” Helen fired back. Cly’s nostrils flared, but before she could offer a retort Helen was speaking again. “I made Pyrrha my roommate because I have the utmost confidence that she will be awarded co-captain of the cheer squad. Right, Pyrrha?”

She shot Achilles another look. He understood this one to mean  _ “just go with it, please.”.  _ __   
  


Achilles did, straightening his back. “Yes.” 

_ Nope. Hell no.  _  First tucking for, like, 6 hours a day. Now having to participate in hell on earth, aka cheer tryouts? Hell no. Hell  _ no.  _

“Of course.” Automedon was so lucky he loved him as much as he did.

“Fine then.” Clytemnestra gave another fake smile. “I simply cannot wait to see how you do at try-outs.” 

 

“Same here.” Deidamia stared at him, eyes squinted in thought and a strange smile stretching across her face. 

 

“Come on, Deia.” Cly said a short, strained, goodbye to her sister before leaving. Deidamia followed her closely, her eyes never leaving Achilles. 

_ Fan-fucking-tastic. _

 

He and Helen let out a joint sigh of relief once they were alone. 

 

“Well. We’re fucked.” He sighed, kicking off his heels. The sand that had gotten inside of them during his date spilled out on the carpet. 

 

“Maybe not. I mean, most definitely, but maybe there’s a chance we’re not.” Helen pulled out her phone, lighting fast figured dancing over the screen.

 

Achilles tugged at the zipper on the side of his dress. More sand fell at his feet, but he ignored it. “What do you me-” He realized what he thought before he finished his question. “-no.” 

 

“Yes.” Helen threw her phone on her bed, turning back to look at him. 

 

“Helen, no. Absolutely not. Not for anything.” He tried to stand just as strong and fierce as she was, but found it hard when he was wearing nothing but a 10 pound breastplate and some duct tape. 

 

“Achilles, yes. Absolutely yes. For Automedon.” 

 

His resolve instantly crumbled at the mention of his friend. He nodded and looked away. He suddenly felt very vulnerable. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right.” He sighed “For Automedon, I’ll do...whatever it is I need to do.”

 

He was going to regret this, he just knew it. 

 

“We start tonight.” Helen opened her closet and pulled out a pair of leggings. She threw them at Achilles, who caught them with ease. “I need to get you as limber as possible.” 

 

Yeah. Automedon was very lucky Achilles loved him as much as his did. 

 

***

 

Achilles had earned a reputation for temper tantrums and unfiltered rage long before the “Agamemnon incident” of Junior year. Long before Patroclus transferred to his school. 

And, look, Patroclus knew that it was wrong to judge someone based off of nothing but rumors (especially when the guy didn’t even go to his school anymore), but from what his stovemate in culinary, Agamemnon, had told him, Patroclus didn’t understand how the guy was as popular as he was. 

But then again Agamemnon didn't seem to be the most unbiased source when talking about Achilles. He seemed to hate the guy, like,  _ really  _ hate him. Achilles was literally all this guy talked about. Even when Patroclus wanted to talk about happier things, like his first date with his new maybe-he-wasn’t-really-sure-how-these-things-worked-girlfriend and how he just had the most amazing weekend ever, the guy kept egging on about the blonde. 

 

“He sounds like a self righteous ass.” Pat snorted, carefully measuring out flour. As annoyed as he was with his classmate, his stories about Achilles’ idiocracy were still somewhat entertaining. 

 

“Thank you! No one ever believes me when I tell them how bad he is,” Agamemnon was resting his head in his hands lazily. He flat out told Patroclus the first day of school that he had only taken Culinary to get an easy A, and he didn’t seem to feel guilty for shoving all the work on the new guy. “It’s because his dad’s super popular in the media right now. That and everyone seems to be brainwashed into thinking he’s hot.” 

 

“I doubt he’s  _ that  _ hot.” The taller of the two rolled his brown eyes. Half in how ridiculous this Achilles guy seemed to be and half in annoyance because all Agamemnon ever did was sit around and bitch about this guy. Patroclus liked to think that, compared to his new girlfriend, this Achilles guy would look like a gargoyle. 

 

It was Agamemnon’s turn to snort now. “I don’t know man. He’s short, blonde, and a killer athlete; he seems like your type.” 

His joke was clearly in reference to Pyrrha, Patroclus knew, but the hidden homophobia in the statement wasn’t missed by him. He froze, hand clutching a metal strainer with white knuckles. 

 

Patroclus let out a strained laugh and prayed that rumors from his old school hadn’t followed him here. “Pretty boys aren’t really my thing.” 

 

“Let’s hope not, for Pyrrha’s sake.” Agamemnon pulled his phone out of his pocket. Patroclus forced himself to keep working on their assignment, despite his current wishes to dive head first into the boiling pot before him. “Let me see if I can find a picture of him. You can tell me what you think.” 

 

_ I really shouldn’t be judging this Achilles guy by what Agamemnon is saying. Even if he  _ is  _ a spoiled brat who sat out an entire track season over a petty squabble...it’s not like I don’t have any less-than-pleasant rumors about me.  _

Then

_ Stick to assignment, Pat.  _

He focused on adding in the required ingredients, trying to ignore whatever else Agamemnon was saying about the guy. It went on that way for a good 10 minutes, Patroclus working and Agamemnon trying to talk to him. 

 

“Yo Pat,” He shoved his phone in Patroclus’ face, forcing him to focus on the image on the screen. “You fucking deaf or something? Whatever, that’s the asshole anyway.” 

 

_ Nevermind. This guy is an asshole.  _ Patroclus thought as he looked at a picture of who was probably the hottest, prettiest, guy he had ever seen. Maybe pretty boys were his thing. The picture itself wasn’t the best quality, so he couldn’t make out too much of his facial features, but Patroclus couldn’t shake the odd feeling he suddenly got.

He felt his face heat up, then felt Agamemnon’s eyes on him and realized he’d been staring at the picture for what was probably way too long, so he gave a short laugh and told his stovemate exactly what he wanted to hear. 

 

“ _ God _ . The guy even looks like a spoiled brat.” and for good measure “He’s not even hot.” 

 

“Thank you!” Satisfied with what Patroclus said, Agamemnon went back to playing his phone. Patroclus focused on straining their al dente-at-best noodles, and tried to ignore the weird surge of familiarity he had gotten when he looked at that picture of Achilles. 

_ I know I've seen that face before. Somewhere.  _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "get rekt pat"- my beta about this chapter 2k16. Also in case u didn't know my beta is awesome and I've thankful for all the help and everything <3 <3 <3
> 
> Life updates: I got an Iliad/TSoA tattoo y'all 
> 
> Anyway; I hope you guys liked this chapter. Tell me if you did, yeah? I kind of thrive off of validation. <3


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